


The Detroit Souvenir

by nosigmoid



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Crime Fighting, Drama, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, Investigations, M/M, Psychological Drama, Slow Burn, That's Russian literature for you, Translation, Translation from Russian, WARNING: mentions of suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-07-02 21:11:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15804654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nosigmoid/pseuds/nosigmoid
Summary: [ON HIATUS]Gavin breathed heavily, still trying to get the android off himself. RK900 felt the alcohol in his warm humid breath, he couldn’t tell when the drinking had started — with that bottle in his hand, or way, way before.“You’re drunk, Gavin,” he repeated.“Yeah, duh,” Gavin answered, “The hell I am. And you’re my guardian angel for today, eh? How many of us saved already? Do you keep count at all? Tiny notches, gold star stickers? Or is it a diary? Dear diary, today I’ve dragged another shitsack out the cold merciless oblivion. How does it feel, being so fucking flawless?”[Chapters translated: 4][Chapters completed by the author: 12]





	1. December 10, 2038. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Детройтский сувенир](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/409902) by SilverMetalDeviant. 



> THE AUTHOR'S NOTE  
> Official cover (by https://vk.com/herbstr):  
> https://pp.userapi.com/c847021/v847021511/da6da/W-OQu4sUpkg.jpg
> 
> This fanfic is going to encompass the events of the year between December 2038 and December 2039.  
> The work is related to "Moles" [another fic by SilverMetalDeviant, untranslated]. For those of you who are fans of Gavin Reed, you can read a "Moles" chapter dedicated to him [English translation coming at some point, I swear]:  
> https://ficbook.net/readfic/6971018/17964981#part_content
> 
> A reference for this work's headcanons [now in English, yay!]:  
> https://imgur.com/a/ZlFMjOM
> 
> THE TRANSLATOR'S NOTE  
> This is one of the best, most mature and human fanworks I've ever read. It felt unfair that only us Russians get to experience the treasure. So there you go!  
> Critique welcome, especially regarding punctuation. For the Russians out there - I'm happy to hear your thoughts on the interpretation and have a civilized discussion to a cup of non-alcoholic non-balalayic tea.  
> 

Fowler’s bald head gleamed shortly in the doorway of the changing room. He eyed the grey dull space, discouraged.

“Oh, Tina, hey. Listen, have you seen Reed?” he asked.

“Not since early morning, Captain,” officer Chen shook her head.

“Well, if you see him, get his ass to my office. It’s urgent!” Fowler exclaimed, bulging his eyes, indicating the urgency.

“Will do, Captain.”

The door flung shut. Tina snickered and looked over at Reed. His head was now out of the very furthest locker by the window, where he’d shoved himself, cursing, half a minute ago.

“So, how long is the hide-and-seek for?" Tina asked with interest, fastening her carry belt.

Gavin replied with the straightest face:

“‘Til I’m retired. Jeffrey and his fucking ideas…” he sighed woefully, not noticing Tina’s chuckle.

Naturally reserved, she refrained from asking any questions as Reed burst into the changing room and signalled a fervent “I’ve never been here!” with just his arms. She could already tell that Gavin had his reasons for panic, seeing as the bulky Captain himself bothered to lift his mighty ass from the chair to go and personally search every corner of the department for his lousy detective. Tina and Gavin weren’t especially friendly, but handing a colleague in to Fowler, who was clearly boiling with rage, would be against the officer’s principle. It was probably thanks to her phlegmatic patience that she could stand Reed longer than the others. Many people thought Tina and Gavin buddies, which was very far from the truth. In the entire department, Reed didn’t have a friend.

“You the man, Tina! I owe you one,” Reed peered into the hallway and, upon making sure all was clear, slipped right out.

“Yeah, as if you’ll remember,” Tina remarked sarcastically, sitting down to tie her winter shoes.

 

Meanwhile, Fowler strode past the questioning room with the broad gait of a true sailor. He headed for the detention cells, huffing loudly, out of breath from all the sudden exercise. It’s been a while since he had to storm these floors in person.

“Fuck you too, Gavin,” he shook his fist at the ghost of the nimble detective. “Guess who’ll be freezing balls shovelling drunkards off the streets and giving away parking tickets ‘stead of a Christmas! Goddamn ninja wannabe.”

The Captain went through every possible corner that Gavin would usually inhabit. He even remembered the fire exit, the ultimate fuck-around spot for the daredevils of the department — including Gavin, undoubtedly. Every unlucky soul who happened across his path got warned of Reed’s wanted status. And all to no avail.

The detective vanished into thin air. Coming back without the asshat and changing plans on the spot was meant to be the last resort, but Fowler didn't have all day either.

 

In the Captain’s office, with the same politely neutral expression, unmoving, stood Cyberlife’s new endeavour. Advanced. Both a detective and a negotiator, sent as part of a new campaign. “Mastering the newest technology, transitioning to the next level of advancement” — all in all, a generous offer one cannot refuse.

 _I’d rather have a new coffee maker,_ Fowler thought bitterly, as he was up to here with Cyberlife’s wondrous prototypes. Or a prototype, more accurately. RK800 alone felt more than enough. Besides, it was still hard to grasp how there, in his department, supervised by the good old Hank Anderson, worked the android who practically stopped an emerging civil war. The global Manhattan-sized shitstorm looming over the whole of Detroit, which was stopped but turned out to bring major change to the life of Fowler, a simple American citizen who felt he simply lacked the CPU to comprehend it.

The androids got their rights. The Fowler got his brand new headache.  
He barely got over one technological masterpiece, and now they were fixing him another.

With recommendations.

With the best of wishes.

With hopes for a fruitful collaboration.  
Android and man, joining forces against the common enemy of crime.

Amen.

Jeffrey didn't hate his staff enough to make them work with the machine against their will, especially since it looked much more formidable than its predecessor. Taller, broader shoulders, completely devoid of the emotion that Fowler saw in RK800. _This one will grind you and spit you right out,_ he thought apprehensively. Jeffrey generally disliked the idea of humanoid robots, but the world changed without consulting his wishes, so all he had left to do was adapt. He knew perfectly well that none of the officers would thank him for such an appendage. No one expressed that out loud, of course.

That would be politically incorrect.

Unlawful.

That would count as discrimination against androids.

Xenophobia.

And all Jeffrey needed, of course, was this kind of accusation thrown against his own department. He had to take in the new employee with exemplary acceptance, as an upstanding member of the shining modern democracy. The problem was, however, that the campaign was aimed to encourage android employment alongside a human partner. Those were the RK900’s words. Solitary work was not an option.

Out of all the possible partners, one felt like the most obvious choice — namely, Gavin Reed. That lazy fucker had long had it coming.

“Is there a problem, Captain?” the RK900 asked in a formal tone.

It was the tone Fowler would get from his maths teacher, and it never meant good news.

“You’re unaware of your employee’s whereabouts during work hours?” RK900 specified, knocking down all remaining doubt: Gavin very well deserved this kind of punishment.

For the humiliation of workplace hide-and-seek. For the fuck-it-all attitude. For the resolution rate of his cases. For the smoking out on the stairs.

“You could look for him yourself,” offered the Captain, whose only desire was to be left alone, in the comfort of his chair, to rest his aching back.

“That’s exactly what I'm going to do,” reassured the android, leaving the office and giving Fowler the sweet, sweet relief.

He took the folder with Cyberlife’s logo, flipped through it once more and said to himself thoughtfully, “No idea how this turns out, but I can fucking tell Gavin’s about to choke on a nice spoonful of bullshit.”

 

Gavin was freezing at the department’s rooftop, with Fowler successfully off his tail. He needed a break, preferably away from the prying eyes of his colleagues. Though, he hadn’t chosen the best hiding place. The weather in December wasn’t at all welcoming to those who wished to enjoy the Detroit scenery from the bird’s eye view. The wind lashed violently, and, judging by the cold, it was just about to start snowing — a frosty winter greeting from the Great Lakes. Gavin pulled up the hood of his jacket, found a nice windless spot and took a drag.

There was no point camping up there, as well as hiding from Fowler all over the precinct. No chance of the Captain dropping his horrid plans, either. Good guy Collins, who couldn’t keep himself from breaking the news to Gavin, didn’t bother to hide his joy. He seemed to remember that one time when Reed wriggled his way out of a dead-end case by dumping it onto Collins, while he himself merrily got away. All odds were against him that morning. “There’s always a loophole. Come on, Gavin, think!” he encouraged himself, his hands starting to ache in the damp freezing air.

Come to think of it, there was nothing tragic in the fate that was about to befall him: he was merely getting an assistant, a perfect target for dumping all the ugly paperwork. And Gavin sure wasn't going to let it act out. He was the human of the two, and the human always comes out on top. But in spite of that, the thought of always having a tag-along irked Gavin somehow. He wasn’t looking forward to that. At all.

“The full-metal asshole needs to learn his place, the sooner, the better,” Reed concluded confidently. “Let the doll sit still and pretty. Makes a for good coat hanger.”

 

The prospective coat hanger was, at that moment, standing at the rooftop entrance. His fingers twisted the knob, but the door didn’t give in. Locked from the outside. With a quick scan RK900 estimated the air to be at nineteen and a half Fahrenheit, all the while Detective Reed, judging by the CCTV footage, was not dressed for the occasion. Meaning that he was going to unlock the door in a matter of minutes, after, the android presumed, finishing his smoke. Yet another bad habit to judge — the first one was the terrible lack of any discipline in the workplace. RK900 crossed his arms and waited.

His calculations were spot-on. Four minutes passed before the door gave a creak and flew open, revealing the precious fugitive. The android saw Reed taken aback, an ill expression settling on his face moments later.

“What the… The hell are you doing here?”

Though it was their first time meeting in person, one thing Reed saw clearly: the android came for him. He glanced up the tall figure with contempt. That fuckboy jacket with the tackiest standing collar imaginable. Connor and his tux paled in comparison. For a moment there, Gavin thought he was seeing things as he looked the cyberdoll in the face.

First of all, the guy looked too much like Anderson’s favourite pet. Almost twins, it felt like. Second of all… in the eyes of his brand new, completely and utterly redundant partner he saw a reflection of his own feelings. Put simply, Gavin met the gaze usually given to a day-old pile of dogshit. He blinked, wiping off the image. Nothing changed.

“Fucking what now?” Gavin moved past the android, putting the most sincere of effort into pushing it with his shoulder. But he didn’t get very far before he felt his hood tugged off and his body thrown backwards, with a force that made the ziplock bite painfully into his neck.

Gavin got dragged back to the roof like a trashbag and thrown aside, which made him finally lose his balance, trip over and land on all fours.

“Well...” flashed across his mind. First tell-tale sign that the situation was waltzing itself into a whole other direction. Reed always dug wells when it did that. And so now, getting up from his knees, wiping the dirty palms against his jacket, Gavin went on to himself, “Well, well, well… What a fucking Kinder egg. Full of surprises, are you?” He watched the android closely as it locked the door, stone-faced, so that no one would be able to come through from the inside.

It was true, perhaps, that Gavin knew fuck-all about compiling reports, but he’d been a world-class expert on combat foreplay since, well, about the age of five. He knew damn great what exactly was unravelling before him. The only thing that puzzled him was his opponent. Androids don’t break human noses as a weekend hobby — at least, the normal ones don’t. He didn’t step back, didn't call for help or give out any sign of fear when the RK900 made a move towards him. He simply waited.

 

“Weren’t you interested in my business here, Detective?”

Reed squinted: all seeming resemblance to Connor had faded. Quite obviously, this one was a different breed altogether. The grey hostile gaze locked on his face, reading. Gavin’s did the same.

“So what if I did? I’ll even ask you once again. What the everloving fuck are you doing here?”

“And what the fuck are _you_ doing here?” RK900 replied, pressing the “you”.

Such a plot twist would leave a great audience puzzled. A swearing android was about as common in Detroit as a live unicorn.

“I’ve no idea who you are and what you want from me, but you already seem like a massive fucking pain. Go on, tell me what you came for, and I’m out of here.”

“You know very well who I am, Detective. Otherwise, you wouldn't have kept me waiting. And you’re only leaving when I let you.”

Alright, that was about it. Too crass to let the conversation stay that — a mere conversation. They were no longer just two men who stepped outside to “sort it out”, like men do. RK900’s audacity called for a much more convincing argument. So Reed complied.

 

He managed two generous swings at the android’s frame, the third one cut off by a marvellous hook right in the jaw that knocked all sense of space-time out of him. The android didn’t seem satisfied with the tranquillizing properties of the punch, topping it off with a swing or two to the detective’s ribcage for better measure. For the second time this morning Reed ended up on his knees.

“Fucking hell… Where do you specimens even come from?” he blurted out, catching his breath.

The android introduced himself readily:

“I’m the model sent by Cyberlife as part of the new campaign, “Android and man: common fight against crime”. I was assigned your partner as per the decision of Captain Fowler. I’m here to assist your cases, Detective Reed. My name is Richard, serial number-”

“Do you know that police officers aren’t the ones you’re supposed to be beating the shit out of, you fuckwit?”

“I only resort to physical violence with those who call for it. You were definitely calling for it, Detective. Have you heard the news? Crude handling of androids is now a serious offence.”

“And I’m the crude one?” Gavin marvelled at the thought, holding on to his hurting side.

He somehow managed to get up from his knees, now completely numb with the cold and, as a nice bonus, harbouring some considerable bruises.

 

 _Alrighty, tincan. Feel special all you fucking want. This isn’t over._ One of Gavin’s few upsides was his readiness not to underestimate the opponent and step aside if the circumstances obliged. Step aside to strike a weak spot later. And weak spots, those weigh down on everybody. No exceptions, even for our Iron Giant here. Thus, Gavin decided to change his tactics.

“Listen here, Data. I need a partner about as much as a new one down there.”

“I figured.”

“So let’s settle this as two grown rational… er, beings. We’ll come up to Fowler, explain it all to him. He’ll give you some cheery-sunny fuckwad like Ben Collins. Want Collins? The guy’s a gift, I’m telling you- fucking hell,” he clutched at his side, crooking down with pain. “You’ll have your Collins, I’ll have a headache less to worry about. How ‘bout that?”

The android stood there for a moment, his chilling gaze on Gavin. The detective was pale as a sheet, wincing, feeling his side under the jacket.

“Why not?” RK900 finally agreed, making Gavin feel something vaguely reminiscent of empathy.

“Come on then, Tyson, let’s get out of here. I’m freezing.”

“My name is Richard,” the android reminded as he opened the door for Gavin.

“The fuck do I care? Hold that thought, I’m sure our buddy Collins will appreciate it.”

 

And so Gavin marched to Fowler’s office, upbeat and relieved to have dodged the bullet this easily. He wasn’t even bitter about the android’s take on plastic surgery. What’s a couple of bruises in the face of working with this treat for a partner?

Though, he shouldn’t have got his hopes up just yet.

Gavin humbly took his seat in front of Fowler, ready to explain with utmost precision and eloquence why exactly he’s turning down such a promising (“Promising to snap in half if he keeps walking around with his head so far up his ass”) companion. And the companion, in turn, was supposed to ask the Captain for a reassignment just as convincingly. What a beautiful plan. What a shame to watch it fall apart.

Ignoring Reed, Fowler spoke to the android, a statue behind the detective’s back:

“I see you’ve already met?”

“That is correct, Captain,” RK900 replied terrifyingly politely.

“So what do you think of your new partner?”

Gavin raised his index finger, about to interject, but the android was quicker with his crushing betrayal:

“I think only the best. I believe you’ve made the right choice, Captain. Detective Reed and I have great teamwork potential.”

Fowler stared. First at RK900, then at Gavin, as if making sure that this exact Gavin was in question and not some other Detective Reed who happened to wander into the precinct earlier that morning.

“Oh, so that’s how it is,” Fowler said thoughtfully, upon which Gavin snapped with poorly masked desperation:

“That’s not what he means!”

“Excuse me?” Fowler was clearly confused. “If you two really do get along as well as he says, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Get along?!” Gavin turned to RK900 only to see an almost complete lack of expression. Almost. He could tell that the tincan was enjoying this. So he asked bluntly:

“Could you… give us a moment?”

The android didn’t move, the Captain didn’t say a thing. Gavin pondered for a second and repeated:

“Could you give us a moment, _please_?”

RK900 nodded and left the office without a word.

 

“What the fuck is this all about?” Jeffrey then asked, clearly forgetting the revenge he’d been plotting on Gavin that very morning.

“That’s what I’d love to know! What the fuck is this all about, Fowler? Are we selling our asses to Skynet now or what?” Gavin spoke in a quiet yet persistent tone. “I have no fucking clue what’s up with your wunderwaffe, but I’m not working with it, do you hear me, Jeffrey?”

“Oh, you are,” cooed Fowler, “and you’re going to love every second of it. I’m not signing anyone else up for this, Gavin. Don’t even think about it.”

“But why me?” Gavin exclaimed, ”If he’s so fucking perfect, why not give him to some poor officer of the month, Ben would do just fucking fine! Why me then?”

“Well… Let me think about it for a second, Gavin, let me fucking think. Maybe because of your sky-rocketing efficiency? Because of your amazing reports, huh? ‘’The deceased fell thrice onto the knife, probable cause of death: suicide’’? Maybe because every living breathing thing in this office is sick and tired of your bullshit? This is out of the question. You have the android and you work. Don’t like something? You’re welcome to leave. I’ve had it up to here,” Fowler slid the edge of his palm against his throat, “with you and everything about you.”

“But…” Gavin wanted to say something, anything.

“Out of my office, Detective. Now,” said Fowler slowly, sharp emphasis on every word.

Gavin knew the tone. It was time to give in and run. He rose slowly from the chair and opened the door to the sight of the idling RK900, the word “ANDROID” plastered across his broad shoulders.

“Let the android come in. I need a word,” Jeffrey’s voice demanded from behind.

Senseless with grief, Gavin gave way to the traitor and headed towards his own table. He sat down, head in the hands, feeling his jaw ache from the punch earlier. He looked over at the glass of the Captain’s office: Fowler was staring at the table, listening intently to whatever sing-song nonsense the android had to say.

 _Wonder what he’s on about,_ Gavin thought. But even if he knew, he’d hardly believe it.

He’d hardly believe it, as even Fowler himself was taken aback by the answer to his own remark.

“Detective Reed doesn’t seem to share your opinion about the partnership.”

What he’d heard in response stuck with him ever since:

“It seems I’ve made a bad first impression. It is entirely my fault, Captain, and I’m going to work on improving the situation. What I have to say about Detective Reed, in turn, is that he possesses many skills and qualities valuable in collaborative police work. Namely, he’s proven himself a persistent, resilient worker able to easily adapt to a stressful situation. He’s a quick learner, proactive and sensitive to the emotional environment around him. The last one, of course, bringing exceptional use during direct contact with criminal elements, in questionings, for instance.”

“Where the hell did you…” Fowler started to think, astonished, but then caught himself admitting that every single word could indeed be applied to Gavin. It’s just that he preferred a “sly fucking asshat” to some of the titles that RK900 so generously dispensed. Put simply, the android had outlined quite a shady figure, but in words that Fowler would never in his right mind use to describe Gavin.

 _The better for them,_ Jeffrey concluded, interrupting the flow of praise directed at the worst detective in the entire department:

“Well, Richard, your enthusiasm seems enough for the both of you,” the android nodded with a pleasant smile, “You’re free to start. If anything comes up-”

“It won’t,” RK900 promised confidently and left Fowler to reflect.

“That’s the fucking future for you…” he said to himself with a strange bitterness. “Adapt or perish, Jeffrey, adapt or perish…”

 

Noon came. The hasty morning was over, flowing gently into an afternoon just as hasty. Gavin was staring drearily at the back of his partner’s head, realising just how hard it would be to get rid of his newfound treasure. That would take some effort, for sure.

“We don’t have all day, Detective,” said RK900 with a clear threatening undertone.

The android didn’t wait for Gavin to take it all in before dragging him into some urgent call near Edsel Ford Freeway. Gavin sped up his pace, although still sombre and focused on developing future plots against his partner.

Now, reassured that the human finally obeyed, RK900 pondered: the detective had the full right to file a complaint, and yet… Didn’t as much as hint at the rooftop incident in front of the Captain. Strange.

“And very interesting,” noted RK900.


	2. February 9, 2039 — My best friend Rick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATOR'S NOTE:  
> It was about here that I got seriously hooked. Tread with caution.

 

 

> _The pay's not great, but the work is hard!_
> 
> _-_ Black Books

Gavin Reed awoke at 7 o’clock sharp. Looked at the toxically green digits on the clock face and pressed his eyes shut. Just fifteen more minutes, was that too much to ask? Turned out it was, as sleep didn’t come for fifteen, nor five more minutes. It looked like he’d finally developed a functioning circadian rhythm. Awful news. He got up and lit his cigarette. Stood at the window for a while: the sky was promising a sunny day for Detroit. Terrible news.

Gavin took a shower. Fixed himself a cup of godawful coffee. Had a tasteless breakfast. Got dressed. He was ready to leave when the phone rang. His mother had never called this early.

Gavin tensed up.

“Mom?” his heart sped up anxiously. He’d always had stupid fears, like picking up the phone one day to the polite voice of a medical worker, telling him about mom… But he heard Debra’s own voice instead.  
“Good morning, peewee.” Gavin, who’d been a giant next to his mother ever since middle school, always winced at the name.

He barely opened his mouth to reply when the intercom went off, letting through a voice, even though Gavin didn't press the accept button:

“It’s five minutes to nine, Detective. If you don't come out shortly, I will have to drag you out myself, no matter your state,” RK900 warned malevolently through the speakers.

“Who was that, darling?” Debra asked.

Gavin flipped off the intercom before replying:

“Oh, it’s just my partner, thought to come by.”

“You have a partner now?”

“Yeah... A godsend, that guy is. Very outgoing. And what a comedian, too! Always cracks me up, the bastard.”

“Are you boys friends?” Gavin felt like there was a hint of doubt in her voice. Was there?

“Well, sort of… I mean, of course we are! ( _Friends with a fucking android who’s got me by the balls and won’t let me take the faintest of a piss in peace and quiet._ ) Friends like you wouldn’t believe!”

“And what’s his name?”

Gavin felt his face twitch at the thought of calling that assmouth by his name, but he replied as carelessly as ever:

“Rick, mom. Richard, I mean.”

“The name sounds beautiful.” This somehow made Gavin chuckle. Debra continued somewhat strangely:

“It’s so nice that you have a friend now…”

“Oh, come on, mom! I’ve always had friends!”

“You have? Like who?”

The question caught Gavin completely off-guard. He didn’t know what to say, but worst of all was the fact that his mother got it one hundred percent right. Even though she’d never brought it up before. The silence thickened. Gavin knew that even if he’d manage to name some of those dimwits that used to flock around him in his schoolyard bully years, Debra wouldn’t believe it.

“Is something wrong, ma?”

“I don’t know, Gavin. You know, I just got very scared for you all of a sudden. So scared that I called you, couldn’t help it.” And, not letting Gavin say anything, she continued with her breath shaking ever so slightly, “Scared that you don’t have anyone but me. This isn’t normal, Gavin. I waited for a girl to show up… but when I call, one time it’s Nancy who picks up, the other it’s Lucy, then it’s Norma… I know, it’s hard to find someone… But you just can’t keep anyone around! And it’s always been like this, ever since you were little, it has. You close off from everyone, you push everyone away, this isn’t right, darling, this isn’t right!”

“Mom, wait up, are you crying?” he whispered into the phone, horrified by the thought. She’d never cried before. _Never._

“I’m sorry... you really don’t need this, do you...” Debra said with remorse. Gavin rarely heard her bright and cheerful voice give away such a great, all-encompassing tiredness, the old tiredness of a woman whose life was her son and her job. “It’s already tough for you out there, Gavin, and if people saw me crying like this, what would they think? That I don’t love you at all? That you’re not the best thing that’s ever happened to me? Oh, no, I would never give them the pleasure.”

“Ma,” Gavin mumbled into the phone, dumbfounded, and heard stifled sobbing, “mom! Please, please don’t cry, I’ll come for you! I will, right away, want me to come right away?"

“It’s… it’s okay, Gavin… I’ve just had a rough time, that’s all,” it sounded like Debra had got a hold of herself. That soft, small woman with a spirit of steel, who was for the first time in her life crying in front of her son — if that was even applicable, as they had miles between them. “Please, don’t you worry, it’s all going to be okay. It’s all going to be wonderful.”

What she always said. She’d keep repeating the words like a mantra. “It’s all going to be okay,” she would say, and there they were, not a single thing okay. Nothing fucking okay. When his mother hung up, Gavin felt hate burning him from the inside like acid — hate for himself and for the people of Taylor who’d always been silently judging her every step; felt piercing sorrow for his mother, felt his own powerlessness.

And as if that wasn’t enough, RK900, who got tired of waiting around in the car, slammed the door open without warning, like he always did ( _How about learning to fucking knock?!_ ).

“Jesus Christ! Go to hell, get the fuck out of my house, get the fuck out!” Gavin groaned powerlessly and, pressing his hands into the android’s stone-wall chest, tried to push him out the door to no avail, choking down the traitorous contractions in his throat, he knew, he fucking knew, he felt it how there, somewhere, just some twenty miles away, all alone in the kitchen, mom is crying, tiny and helpless, crying because no one in the whole world can see her apart from the god she so believes in... And Gavin’s here, one hour away, trying not to break into weeping in front of this dumbfuck machine. Pathetic.

“Go-a-way...” he moaned and finally lost it. Burst into tears, dropping his face into his palms. The tears stung, the sobs choked him. Gavin couldn’t give a shit anymore that he was standing there, bawling his eyes out in front of his oh so beloved partner, while the brute kept still as a statue. Didn’t leave, didn’t act on his pre-programmed sensitivity, which was in stock for anybody at all, but not for Gavin. Didn’t turn away to spare whatever pathetic debris was left of his dignity, towered over him and kept an eloquent silence. Through a veil of biting tears, Gavin saw the blurred figure step towards him, blocking the light, and then felt hands lay upon his shoulders, pressing him against the other’s chest. Firmly but carefully, not hurting a bit. Not the way RK900 usually liked it when he jerked his stubborn partner by the shoulder or twisted his arm back to cut off the barking. A hug that didn’t leave aching bruises. Gavin didn’t even try to figure out what the hell was happening, he buried his face in the broad chest with a feeling of weird sensual relief, almost limp in his partner’s arms, and gave himself completely in to weeping, desperately, mindlessly, as only a child or a woman could. Not a man. No man should ever allow this.

Gavin was too out of it to tell how long the rampant flow of tears took to stop. He only remembered the feeling of touch on his head: RK900 stroked his hair with a solacing motion. _Should’ve gone the full fucking mile with a “there, there” and a cup of lavender,_ Gavin thought.

As soon as Gavin caught his breath from this sudden outburst of hysteria and peeled his hands off the android’s jacket, the arms that held him compliantly let go. He felt deathly ashamed to look RK900 in the eyes, and yet he looked, ready to meet the mocking contempt. He wondered what he’d see in those eyes after a humiliation that would remain with him until the end of days.

But his expectations did not come true. There was no contempt, no joy, no irony in the cold greyness of the android’s impenetrable gaze. Just the usual calmness, as if nothing had happened and Gavin hadn’t been wailing this whole time like a fucking schoolgirl violated at a prom party.

“I’ll be outside. Come out in ten minutes,” RK900 said. “Get yourself together.” And then the android left, closing the door carefully behind him, as if he’d forgotten his own tradition of going out with a slam that would knock the plaster off the ceiling.

It only took nine minutes for Gavin to wash the embarrassing sore off his eyes with some cold water. He got in the car without a word, not bickering with RK900 about who was driving that day. The android was silent as the dead. No questions, no spiteful glances, no fuckface mocking. So much unlike him.

And so they rode, in graveyard silence, all the way to the abandoned underground parking lot, where a fresh body was supposed to be waiting. The patrol loomed about the entrance.

Gavin felt the need to say something. Something along the lines of “forget what you saw”, or “you tell anyone and I’ll blow your head off”, or “hey, thanks for the help, man”. But each and every one of those felt like the same irrelevant bullcrap. So he said nothing.

They got out of the car and began the inspection. Had a word with the patrol, then with the local gang of skipping teens who stumbled upon the body trying to smoke one out in the parking lot away from any prying eyes. The bloodshed shocked the kids so much so that a couple of them finally risked calling the cops and were now lingering gloomily around the lot, while their less law-conscious companions had blissfully kicked off to someplace else.

RK900 inspected the body and concluded, “Eight stabs to the neck. Death of blood loss”. He recovered the name of the victim: Karl Hoffman, 55, a pharmacist, divorced, two underage children, no previous convictions, no unpaid fines, owned a house on Heidelberg street.

“Meaning a flat shithole,” Gavin interpreted. “Seems like his darling ripped him off alright. But this doesn’t explain what the hell this beef patty of a man is doing lying dead in a drughead junkyard at this end of the fucking city. Couldn’t have wandered off, now could he?”

“He’s a pharmacist,” the android replied briefly, scrutinizing something on the victim’s neck.

“Oh, so you think our Humpty-dumpty here hit the streets to become a businessman? That’d take more balls than a fatty civil like him has to offer. Oh, fucking hell, not the-”

RK900 slid his fingers across the wound and put them up to his mouth.

“I’m going to fucking puke...” Gavin pleaded. RK900 looked up at him and pointed to the furthest corner, “If you’re planning on puking, that’s your spot. Nothing of importance in there”.

“Well, thank you very much… Ugh… Did that taste good at least?” mocked Gavin, who had by now recovered from the scene earlier that morning.

“Spaniards taste better,” played the android.

 _Count fucking Suckula,_ Gavin thought and winced at the memory of RK900 analyzing the blood of some nameless Latino found behind a dumpster. That time Gavin crooked down right there, at the nearest wall. And then, having successfully parted with his breakfast, he couldn’t get enough of showering his partner with exceptionally creative curses in retaliation for the gut-wrenching performance.

“So, what can you tell?” he asked as soon as the android was done.

“He got killed around here, but the body was moved post-mortem. From that wall,” RK900 pointed, “to here. Makes no sense…”

“What sense, Sherlock? Dude got dragged in here, to the dark, away from the road where every gutted fucking cat could see him. When did our dear client leave?”

“Around seven o’clock.”

“Well, there you go. Got stabbed near the very entrance. The goddamn eight-ball would be very easy to spot from the freeway, even with both your eyes popped out with a fucking ice cream scoop. Have you even seen the road?” Gavin waved in the general direction of the freeway, which didn’t really deserve the name as no vehicle could travel freely on that kind of surface. “30 miles is the fastest you can go here, if you’re not looking for a quick and easy way to dismantle your car, of course. So that’s why our buddies here…”

“Why do you think there were two of them?”

The question did make Gavin ponder. Exactly, why’d he think so?

“What’s his weight, you say?”

“Somewhere around twelve hundred… and fifty.”

“Use your head then for once and think. Who in their right mind would drag this carcass around? An android, maybe, but you folks don’t lurk around these kinds of shitholes craving some of that fairy dust.”

RK900 looked at the body, then at Gavin, in doubt. And offered suddenly:

“Try it.”

“Wha-a-at now?”

“Grab the collar, like so,” he showed where to grip, “and try to move it.”

“If this is your idea of a party contest, I’m never fucking inviting you. I’m not touching it, don’t even look at me like this.” Gavin knew that expression too well. It read: resistance is futile.

Gavin put on his latex gloves in disgust, gripped the body tightly by the jacket collar and pulled. He caught himself admitting that dragging the bulk was tough but quite possible for one grown man to pull off.

“Enough,” RK900 ordered. “As you can see, there’s nothing stopping even you from moving the body.”

“Oh, now I’m happy, thanks a ton. Do we still need him?”

RK900 shook his head and Gavin waved the medics in. One of them knew Reed, and he asked with a chuckle, “What’s your business tugging our client around?”

“Skipped my morning workout, you see. Thought to burn a couple hundred calories dragging this fuckbag back and forth.” Gavin reached for his back pocket but remembered that he’d left his pack at home, so he had to rob the medic of a cigarette. They didn’t get to chit-chat, however, as RK900 already headed towards the exit. And even though the android did so without addressing Gavin at all, he knew he’d better hurry up and follow. Otherwise, he’ll be hearing condescending bullshit about his own ineptitude for the rest of their goddamn shift.

“Duty’s calling,” he nodded to the medic and exited the concrete tombs of the parking lot.

Gavin looked around, taking a mellowing drag of his second cigarette this morning. Around him was a scabby little neighbourhood stacked tightly with pitiful houses which hadn’t undergone a cosmetic makeover in a very, very long time. The closest one was practically at arm’s reach. This meant that someone, somewhere might’ve heard the screaming — Gavin doubted that the goddamn hog would go out in pristine peace and quiet. After all, his neck was all meat when they found him.

“Let’s ask around,” the detective offered. He glanced over the houses once again and, to make their stay in these gutters as short as possible, asked:

“Should we split up?”

And they did— the houses to the left of the road were given to RK900, and the rest went to Gavin.

Just as Reed thought, the inhabitants were either deeply hibernating in the state of “don’t know, don’t care”, or couldn’t bother to answer at all. Only at the sixth try did Gavin get lucky.

He was greeted by a middle-aged black woman whose physique he’d only describe as "barely at peace with the doorway". He didn’t get a chance to say a word before she blurted out with the signature accent:

“Oh, hello there! Look what we got here! What is it, sweety, have the pigs really not forgotten they still got roads leading out here?”

“Ma’am,” Reed started incredibly politely, but she wouldn’t let him talk.

“When I called the cops, not one of you pigs showed up, and now you want me to talk to you, is this what it is?!”

 _You’re already talking to me, Jesus fucking Christ,_ Reed thought while putting on an expression of sincerest remorse for personally disappointing this fine lady. He just needed to wait for the steam to run out.

The woman went on for a while about the horrible sins of the Detroit police, and the Mayor, and the President… but she cooled down when she saw just how humbly and intently the youthful detective was taking in her struggle. All the while Reed reflected on how only a month ago he would’ve called her all the names the English language could provide and slammed the door shut. But by now Gavin’s patience had gone through the many trials of RK900, who made the shrill female rambling sound like a gentle breath of morning wind. It was now quite hard to get under his skin.

“So, the hell are you here for?” she asked, though her voice now had an undertone of sympathy for the martyr detective.

“The body of a white male was found earlier this morning in the underground parking lot…”

“Aha! I told you so, it would come down to this! What do that white trash expect coming out there like some junkie fucking Woodstock! And your pigs, detective…” she gave him a quizzical look.

“Reed,” he introduced himself. The woman nodded and continued:

“Your pigs didn’ move a goddamn muscle when me and all my neighbours were complaining about that fucking parking lot. But soon as they slit a white throat, you’re here like nothing!”

“Hold on, ma’am,” Gavin stopped her immediately. “I haven’t told you the victim had his throat slit.”

The woman crossed her plump arms on her chest and gave Gavin an astounding gaze that spoke such scepticism and dignity that only the eyes of an old black woman who’s seen it all could express.

“Well, arrest me then, sweetie.” Reed didn’t respond yet again, so she added, “I heard no gunshots, but the bastard was bawling his lungs out, so that’s either stabbing or fucking for you. And since you pigs found him dead, that’ll be the first one.”

“Okay, so you’ve heard the screams in the morning, do you remember the exact time?”

“Can’t forget, sweetie, they woke me up half past six. The window was open a crack, the sound went through to me just fine, so much for a nice sleep this morning.”

“Have you tried looking out the window?”

The woman sneered and pointed at the lawn: an old maple tree was spreading its branches high above it, obscuring the view from the bedroom window.

“I tried alright, but what’s the point? Someone was getting the hell outta there, that’s for sure, but I couldn’t make out who it was.”

Gavin glanced back at the road. A black-and-white jacket showed among the shaggy bushes that have probably never seen a pair of scissors. RK900 was nearly done with his survey.

“But then there’s old Matthew living at the end of the street, he could’ve seen someone, that codger insomniac… What’s that there,” the woman stretched out her neck and squinted, “an android, is it?”

“Yes, he’s with me,” Reed explained.

“Well, get outta here then, until old Matthew grabs his favourite rifle and blows those blue brains out. The lunatic doesn’ like their company,” the woman advised.

“Thank you for your cooperation, ma’am, you helped greatly.” Gavin smiled politely and headed, albeit slowly, to the house of old Matthew. During the walk, he saw the door of the shabby house open for just a moment and then slam shut right in front of RK900. _And someone told me there’d be brains,_ Gavin thought and chuckled.

“Don’t tell me he’s not falling for your striking charm.” Gavin rang the doorbell, pushing RK900 aside with his shoulder. “Detroit police, open up!”

Behind the door, there was a wooden creak and a murmur, but no one opened.

“Sir! We’re investigating a murder in the parking lot, we need potential witnesses.”

Creak. Murmur. Gavin turned to the android:

“Could you fuck off?” And then added, “Pretty please?”

RK900 turned away stone-faced and vanished out of sight to someplace behind the roadside bushes. Gavin bent down to the keyhole and yelled:

“Sir, there are no androids around! My name is Detective Reed, and I’m here alone. I need to talk to you!” The door opened before Gavin could stand up straight: the old man had obviously been standing right behind the door the whole time. Gavin gave himself a mental pat on the shoulder for breaking the habit and not letting out some snarky remark about the old fuck like while the guy had been eavesdropping.

The Matthew was old indeed. Very old. He’d probably seen his Kasanova days with JFK alive and kicking. But the eyes on that wrinkly dappled face, they were rabid. Squinting, their stare acute, they darted left and right and, not detecting the loathsome machine, locked on Gavin.

“Sir, may I ask you some questions?”

“I saw him.”

“Excuse me?”

“The killer. I saw him go past my house this morning,” the old man said with a smug grin.

“Can you describe him? Every bit of detail is important,” Gavin asked, feeling a slight tremble of anticipation. The thought of hot pursuit excited him.

“He’ll be a short one, shorter than you and sicklier for sure… hehe... “ The man went into coughing. Gavin shuffled his feet impatiently, barely holding from snapping: “Come on, you fuckwit, give it away already!” — but he was too afraid to scare the owl back into its tree hole. The old man continued:

“He was dressed as some hunter or a fisherman. Well, you know, the fuckwads who walk around in their camouflage like they’re something else. He had this long jacket, past his knees.”

Gavin ran out of patience and asked, “Have you seen the face? The hair colour, maybe, or-”

“He had his hood down to here,” old Matthew put the edge of his palm at nose level. “All I saw, the guy was white and beardless”

 _Well, that narrows it down,_ Gavin thought, but nodding so eagerly as if he’d just got the map to the treasures of Montezuma.

“He was wearing these army boots, too,” the old man sank suddenly into thought and added, “shuffled his feet when he walked, stumbled over one time, even. Maybe the fucker was high, who knows… We’ve got lots of them ‘round here, the drugheads…”

Old Matthew went silent, deep in his own mysterious thought. Gavin leaned in and asked, “Is that all, sir?”

The man could only shrug — told you all I got, sorry! Reed said his goodbyes and sped off the porch, looking around for RK900. The android was standing some sixty feet away from the door, doing God knows what.

When he came closer, Gavin saw that RK900 was scrutinizing something on the old man’s patchy lawn. Though, it could hardly count as one. No grass, just bare ground littered with puny dry blades here and there.

“What is it, Hawkeye?” But, following the android’s eyes, Gavin found that even a human could detect the partial footprint that was left in the mud, its signature sole pattern clearly visible. “Fuck me sideways… And don’t even tell me you’re seeing something else…”

“What should I begin with, then? The investigation or your request?” RK900 set off, leaving Gavin no chance for a comeback. The detective followed, trying to walk in his partner’s footsteps, not to soil something his human eye couldn’t see.

They went through the passage between the windowless wall of the house and the tall neighbouring fence. The spot was practically cut off from the rest of the street, no one could've seen a man lurking in there from any of the houses. Soon enough they hit a dead end. RK900 once again assessed the ground to his left and right, then gripped the edge of the fence and pulled up, throwing himself easily over to the other side. Gavin clicked his tongue and struggled after with a “right, Jeffrey, blabber on about how easy I fucking have it”. They then had to climb over five fences of various height, one of which gave Gavin a splinter that made him break into a serpentine hiss, and the other nearly had him crash into a stumbling RK900.

“The fuck is this horse racing?! Did our shithead feel nostalgic for the good ol’ army days and decide to refresh his memory?”

Though, their torment soon came to an end, as the yards ran out and gave place to a concrete road. The android ferreted about on either side of it, but the trace was lost. The suspect took the road, that much was obvious. They only needed to figure out which way.

“The fucker’s a local, went the classy way, through the backyards. That narrows it down,” Gavin noted. The android’s eyes gave away a short glimmer of satisfaction with his partner’s conclusions, but Gavin was too busy trying to get the splinter out to notice it. “So, what next, do we go door to door again like a pair of Jehovah’s witnesses?”

“Yes, but not to every one of them.”

“Yeth? Wha’ phor?” Gavin lisped, sucking on the pesky splinter.

RK900 conjured a hologram in his hand, an image of a yellow military boot.

“So what?” Gavin shrugged. “Any fucking rando can buy these frog stompers off eBay.”

“No, they cannot. The model was discarded twenty years ago. The suspect is wearing old-form.”

“Yeah, tell me we’re looking for an Iraq vet as well. Come on!”

RK900 was completely serious, but he thought it sensible to add, “They were too big for his size, I could tell it from the footprints.”

“Hmm, that oldie goldie did mention the weird walk,” Gavin remembered. “The unfit boots, the long jacket… Come on, who the hell wears knee-long jackets? The asshole went full-on Batman with the masquerade. Didn’t want himself recognised. Ah, screw it, let’s get going. The aboriginals are staring already…” he nodded at the locals who had only just begun leaving their caves and were now gaping at the cockily dressed android.

An hour and a half went down the drain in their attempts to look for witnesses. During the time, they got to visit two houses, both proudly flying the American flag. One was owned by a widow whose husband had killed himself in the distant year of 2010 — RK900 ran a check-up and knew immediately that there was nothing to catch.

In the other, they were greeted by a very talkative old man, eager to tell them all about his numerous adventures to a nice bottle of beer. When RK900 got tired of his bullshit and asked about the boots upfront, the man didn’t move a muscle. Told them the boots were minding their usual business in the garage — go look for them if you want, I’ve nothing to hide from the men of the people. So Gavin stayed to endure some more of the army stories, while the other “man of the people” went to turn over the contents of the garage without a hint of hesitation. The boots were there as promised, old-form, but a size bigger than the suspect’s footprints. Thus, they excused themselves and left.

“My brain’s about to melt all through my ears from having to listen to this much garbage,” Gavin complained. “If this were my roommate, I’d go fucking nuts within a day, shoot him first and then myself, I’m telling you. By the way, the guy’s mentioned another vet living on a street nearby. I just fucking hope this’ll be the last one, can’t feel my legs from all the walking.”

 

The house in question was old and small, but quite tidy compared to what they’d already seen. RK900 looked at its number, 1032, his LED blinking yellow.

“See anything?” Gavin asked.

“Susan Sparks, 40, middle school Physics teacher.”

“Oh, wow, case closed then —  my teach was such a bile-spitting bitch back in the day, the guys over at Alcatraz would’ve loved her.”

“Unmarried. Has a son of 15, juvenile delinquent… Light drugs. Minor theft…” RK900 added, scanning the profiles of the inhabitants.

“Got it. The little fuck’s a pain for his mother. If we don’t find our bad guy in here, we can at least get some sense into the asshat. It’s all good.”

“There is no way you should be allowed near children, Gavin,” the android remarked.

“Look who’s fucking talking. The sight of your face alone would give me childhood trauma, or at least a life-long bedwetting problem.”

Bantering, they walked up the porch. Gavin knocked. And again. All quiet. Pulled the doorknob. Locked.

“They could be at school, right? She’s a teacher, after all.”

RK900 looked around the tiny front yard. He did not appreciate walking away empty-handed, at all. And the house was still their only clue. Without it, they would have to go back to the very start. Gavin knew it perfectly well, so he switched to the by now standard procedure of “alright, I’ll go dig around every empty corner, so you can fuck off and spare the shittalk.” He left the porch and started a walk around the house, looking into the windows. Pretty damn pointless, seeing how all of them were draped. Weird, blocking the windows in daylight. But whatever, everyone’s got their whimsy.

When Gavin got to the back door, he twisted the knob for a clear conscience. Unlocked! He opened the door a crack and peered in. The sunlight-deprived interior was dim and quiet. Breaking into the house like that would be illegal, so he yelled from the outside:

“Mrs Sparks? Susan Sparks? This is Detroit police. We’re investigating a murder and looking for potential witnesses.”

Complete silence. RK900 went up to him from behind. They exchanged glances. The android nodded at the door, inciting him to go in.

“Are your ones and zeros tap-dancing in there or what? Inviolability of the fucking home, know what that is? Tear yourself a page of our civil rights, smoke it out someday, maybe that’ll help.”

RK900 tried to enter on his own, but Gavin grabbed his arm.

“And it’s all okay to you that a war vet usually doesn’t just have some boots in stock, but also a couple of bullets to a nosy fucking head like yours?” RK900 did not respond. “Ah, fuck it. At least, if I get shot, it’ll rid me of the pleasure to look at your fucking face every morning.”

And Gavin entered. The wooden floors creaked ever so slightly under his feet. He passed the storage room, the staircase, and, stopping at the front door, looked into the living room. It was empty and quiet, with just the ticking of the old mechanical floor clock breaking the silence. Gavin saw two key chains on the hanger by the door. Went in past the staircase… And froze, flinching from the sudden sight. Of course he was expecting to find someone, but he felt a pinch of fear nonetheless.

At the round kitchen table, facing away, a woman was sitting. She was completely still and didn’t turn her head at the sound of Reed’s footsteps. An unfinished cigarette was smouldering in her hand. Behind Gavin’s back RK900 was now standing, who somehow managed to sneak up on him, in spite of the creaky floors, quieter than a cat would.

“Mrs Sparks?” Gavin called.

The woman calmly put out her cigarette in the ashtray and turned to him. Gavin saw a red-handled folding knife by her side on the table. Susan followed his eyes and confirmed:

“Yes, that’s the one.”

He didn’t know what to say. At the top of the staircase a skinny teenager showed up, headphones in, and blinked quickly, dumbfounded by the sight of strangers. Gavin flashed his badge at the kid and walked into the kitchen. Pulled out a chair, sat down in front of the woman. She was a kind-looking 40-year-old blonde with tired features. Fragile. Gavin looked at her dainty wrists, remembering the giant they had to wrestle.

 _Nonsense,_ he thought. The teenager came into the kitchen and almost whined, frightened, “Mom? What’s the matter?”

Susan didn’t answer. She looked to Reed and said, “Are you going to search the house?”

“That’s the drill, ma’am.”

Outside the window, a siren howl was growing louder. It looked like the android had sent out a call to the car patrolling the crime scene. Gavin shot a scalding gaze at RK900: just can’t wait, eh, you scumbag? The sound of the siren pushed the kid ober the edge:

“Mom! What have you done? What have you done, mom?!” He jumped to his mother and started shaking the aloof woman by the shoulders so violently that Gavin had to intervene.

“Tone it down, kid. Keep it together. Be a man…”

The search was a mere formality — Mrs Sparks didn’t deny anything. The clothes and the boots were found in the basement. RK900 identified the blood on the jacket as the victim’s. The murder weapon, a swiss army knife, was there, on the table for everyone to see.

Same thing with the questioning that Gavin carried out. No surprises there. He handed the wailing, completely destroyed Frau Hoffman into the care of RK900.

“Come on, get those therapy scripts together. Give her a hug, a pat on the head, I’m not one to teach you,” he needled, remembering the morning incident, and left the android for the questioning room.

Susan was sitting strangely, somehow lopsidedly. She looked at the detective with a bitter smile and said:

“I wouldn’t have known the police could work so well. Didn’t take you very long…”

Gavin thought not to explain that if it weren’t for an android bloodhound, they would’ve probably never met. And the humble Physics teacher would’ve continued on with her life. Would've lost her sleep, perhaps, anf that would've been it. But, thanks to the campaign of “Android and man: common fight against crime”, Mrs Sparks was going to leave her shady neighbourhood for a nice and comfortable state-sponsored residence.

“Excuse me, would you happen to have a cigarette?”

Gavin reached for his back pocket, yet again forgetting that he’d left his pack at home. He went out into the hallway and asked the guard for a cigarette.

When the woman took the first drag, Gavin opened her case folder, which already contained the patrol reports, the witness statements, the photos of the victim and of the crime scene.

“You haven’t asked for a lawyer,” Gavin pointed out.

“Don’t see the point. I confess to everything. Do you need a statement?”

Gavin pulled out a recorder. Turned it on. In the steady, fleshed-out voice of a teacher, remembering every detail, she recalled everything that had happened that morning. She added at the end:

“I slit that pig’s throat. With my father’s folding knife. He put up a fight, but he was quite… heavy. It was tough, dragging him off… I stabbed him several times, he was trying to push me away, trying to cover himself, but I stabbed that fat neck time and time again… And how he screamed... I thought he’d wake the whole city. But no one came. No one cared, nothing unusual,” she sneered in contempt. “Kept yelling for help. Funny.” She put out her cigarette. “That scumbag made business off other people’s children. He’d message them, deal them his poison. He thought himself a good father who wanted to send his darlings off to a good college. And I think myself a good mother who killed the pig protecting her own son. And I’d do it again without thinking. Will that be enough, detective?”

“Yes, quite. Thank you for your cooperation, Susan.” Gavin stopped the recorder and said to the woman quietly, “You really are a good mother, but slitting one dealer’s throat won’t fix anything, Susan…” She hung her head and said nothing.

Reed waved a hand to Chris who assisted him from the other room.

After the questioning, whose impression weighed heavily on the detective’s mind, he came by to Fowler’s office.

The Captain asked off the bat, “What’s up with your face, Gavin? You're white as a hospital sheet.”

“Running on empty all fucking day, that’s what’s up,” Gavin snarled. “I need a day off, Captain. Or better, several of them. A day off, a break, a leave, what have you. I need to get out. Family stuff.”

“What stuff, eh? Not in Las Vegas, that family business, I hope?”

“In Taylor.”

Fowler chewed on his lip. He’d been quite content with Gavin lately. Or, rather, with his results when partnered with the android. He didn’t want to let him off, like any other competent coworker. Especially not in the face of “the V day”, a name he gave to Valentine’s, that goddamn day when suicide rates spike and all crime is committed out of passion. But good work needed to be rewarded, so he decided:

“You close this case today, and I let you off for a week.” Gavin gave him a grateful nod and stood up. “And yeah, Gavin, go have your lunch. Last thing I need ‘round here is famished fainting.”

“Okay,” Gavin complied vapidly and trudged to the cafeteria for a cup of the energising drink. He still had a report to turn out while RK900 was ranging God knows where.

With a coffee cup in his hand, Reed headed towards the guard, demanding another cigarette.

“Get lost already, Reed," the man said candidly.

“Yeah, tell me more,” he replied, sliding a cigarette out of the other’s pack. He went out onto the staircase. Blocked the door with a box, so that no one could bother him.

Debra didn’t pick up her phone. Gavin remembered: it was rush hour for her at work, eight o’clock in the evening. So he left a brief voicemail: “They gave me a week off, I’ll be there tomorrow morning.” Finished his cigarette, pondering whether he should warn RK900 about the sudden departure, but didn’t feel like explaining himself to the android, so he decided to leave it a surprise. What a look there’ll be on his face…

The clock was at half-past eleven. The only light in the office was at Detective Reed's desk. RK900 returned from the morgue, where he’d been telling off the lousy medic who, out of either hurry or oversight, planted a handful of glaring errors in Hoffman’s autopsy report. RK900 policed his work personally to make sure that the document would come out in perfect condition. He took the papers and headed to the office to leave them for the detective.

He went up to the desk, looked at the dark back of Gavin’s head — the man was sleeping in his chair, face in his folded arms on the table. The glowing screen showed a nearly finished report. That kind of work sure was harder for the detective than hopping over fences. RK900 took the chair in front of him, copied the file, filled in the missing data, fixed a couple of typos and emailed it all to Fowler.

The phone near Gavin’s head vibrated with an incoming text. RK900 glanced over shamelessly — he had no problem whatsoever with checking Reed’s messages — and read the glimmering upturned text:

“I'm so sorry for earlier. I didn’t mean to upset you at all. I’ll be waiting for you, darling. Say hello to your friend Richard for me.”

The screen dimmed, and the android’s eyes burrowed into Gavin, who was knocked out completely and didn’t show any reaction to the vibrating cellphone.

“...your friend Richard. You remembered my name after all, Detective,” he said out loud. “Very good.”


	3. February 11-14, 2039 — Apart

 

> “Is there any use in worrying about what’s happened long ago? I mean, it’s all done with, isn’t it?”
> 
> “It’s never done with, my boy. The past explains the present.”
> 
> \- Isaac Asimov

 

The city of Detroit was still mellowing in early morning slumber. The streets were empty, apart from the few early birds like working androids, cab drivers and barflies who were just now staggering to their homes; at times an undefinable stranger popped up here and there, not spoiling the overall serenity of the picture. It was as quiet as a huge industrial city could ever be.

In spite of the horrible tiredness that the previous day had brought upon Detective Reed, he decided to sacrifice a few hours of his weekend sleep to two considerable causes. First of all, to getting to his mother's as soon as possible. And second of all, to riling up his android, who was still oblivious to Reed's sudden trip to homeland.

He was bringing with him a very late Christmas gift, one he’d been waiting to hand to his mother none other way than in person. It was an Indian patchwork blanket, just as silly as Debra liked it - she had spotted the thing in a movie and had been marveling at its peculiar patterns ever since. Gavin had gone through every possible online shop before he could find a decent replica on the good old Etsy.

As for annoying his favourite partner, he'd put a fair share of effort into the task just as well. RK900 was going to be greeted by a laconic note on Gavin's door. “Enjoy your break,” it said, accompanied by a thoroughly detailed drawing of an obscene hand gesture. It took some effort, as Gavin wasn't artistically gifted by any means. But, by his modest standards, the drawing turned out a real masterpiece.

Happy to forget the stenching gutters, the hellholes, the dirty worn-out wallpapers and the needlessly harrowing presence of the android for a whole week, Gavin was now savoring the thought of finally having a cup of his mother’s rich beautiful coffee instead of whatever the hell he'd been making himself every morning. He was riding the bus down the M94 to his hometown of Taylor. When the Detroit constructions, the hotels and the billboards slowly ran out, giving way to a dull monotonous landscape of bland trees and meadows, Gavin picked up his backpack and asked the bus driver to halt.

Some three miles separated him from the town, and Gavin decided to walk. The winter air was freezing slightly, but the fast pacing helped him warm up and enjoy the walk as much as ever. When the red and blue colours of the welcome billboard showed up, Gavin cut through the park and kept walking among its ash-trees and short rare spruces.

 

It was either thanks to the fresh countryside air, or to the weird trance that ensues whenever one hasn’t properly slept in two days, that Gavin felt like he was glad to see Taylor again. Not his mother, no, but this godforsaken place he’d been trying his best to avoid. In these sleepy hours, Taylor seemed quite a charming little suburb. This strange feeling accompanied Gavin straight up to his mother’s porch, where a nasty surprise had been waiting. A note was stacked into the door. He pulled it out and read:

 

“Peggie’s called in sick, I'm filling in for her today. Won’t be there when you come. The key is where it's always been.”

 

The cheerful, nearly festive mood vanished in the span of a second.

“We-e-ell,” Gavin murmured. Which alone wasn’t very promising. “Well, well. Peggie’s come down, now has she? Oh, well, doctor Reed, time to check in on the patient.”

Gavin fumbled for the keys behind a decorative lantern and pulled them out. He sped into the house, where his mom should’ve been waiting with a dreamy cup of coffee, happy to see her son this early. He reached the storage room, fished out the plastic medical kit, a thermometer, and headed stoutly for the house of Peggie Dent, a thriving cow of thirty-five who’d make the plague itself fall dead of exhaustion, let alone some puny cold. Peggie lived four houses away — Gavin killed the distance nearly at a run. He rang the doorbell, which pierced the heavenly Taylor quiet worse than any fire alarm. Gavin made note of the time: it took Peggie about a minute and a half to show up in the doorway with a beastly grimace, one that definitely felt out of character on the face of a poor, sick woman. She was just about to tell the lunatic all about what she thinks and how many cops are already on their way, but soon she froze.

 

“Recognise me?” Gavin asked rhetorically. “Come on, give it up, tell me what’s happened and why my mother is breaking her fucking back for you on my first day off.”

Peggie couldn’t collect her thoughts, so Gavin decided to help her.

“I’ve heard you’ve come down with a cold.”

“That’s right, Gavin. Got a flu...”

“Oh, that’s a shame. Though, something’s telling me that you’re a little fucking mixed up. I may be wrong, of course, innocent until proven guilty and all that. So why don’t we cut to the chase and find out?” And he handed Peggie the thermometer.

 

Peggie stared, clearly unwilling to put that thing in her mouth.

“It’s either you show me your fever right fucking now, or you’ve got ten minutes to get back here in mint fucking state, washed, dressed and miraculously healed. Do you copy?”

Suddenly Peggie, as if woken up from her trance, pushed his hand away and answered quite harshly:

“Or what, Gavin? We’re not in middle school anymore. So go on, fuck off from my porch. And say hi to mommy for me.” She tried to slam the door, but Gavin’s foot stopped her.

“I see dementia’s got an early onset with you, fatty. Have you forgotten your old buddy Gavin? That can’t be good. Right now I’m going to get my foot away, and you’ll be able to close the door. But I’m here for the whole week, Peg. And you know what? I’m going to try my best to make this Valentine’s stay with you for the rest of your fucking life. Oh, and with any potential fuckbuddies of yours within a hundred miles of Taylor, while I’m at it. You’re not too big of a hit with the local Dandies to begin with, and if I’m going to take hold…” And Gavin smiled so sweetly that Peggie did remember just how big of an asshole he can be when he tries.

Gavin got his foot out of the doorway. Peggie’s eyes flared hatefully at him.

“You’re still the same piece of shit you’ve always been,” she stated.

“So, do you need a thermometer or what?” Gavin asked like nothing, and, not having got an answer, reminded her, “Ten minutes, Peg. And don’t forget to put on your friendliest grin. You’ve got a people job, people need a smile to go with their morning cup a’ coffee.”

 

While Peggie was getting ready, Gavin had the time to finish a whole cigarette and think, not without a tad regret, how deceptive the seeming friendliness and coziness were that ruled over the desolate park which he’d been walking through not so long ago.

“Nothing’s fucking changed,” he remarked. “Same fucking people who can only look halfway decent after a good fucking kick.”

 

“What’s that you’re mumbling, you psycho?” Peggie snarled, only slightly out of her normal schedule and locking her door already.

“I was saying how nice it is to come back to your hometown. So many memories, eh, fatty?”

“Don’t you say. I was just wondering why you come down here so often.”

“That’s so I can miss your pretty faces even more, Peg.”

They moved to the sidewalk and headed for the diner. Peggie, who’d got over the initial shock that the sudden morning visit brought upon her, decided to brighten up the walk with some friendly chit-chat.

“And what about you, Gavin? Have you found yourself a lady out there in Detroit?”

“Haven’t even been looking. I’m married to the job, if you must now.”

Peggie snorted. “How you’ve ended up with the cops, that’s a mystery to me. I’d quicker believe you’re serving time or dealing ice or something.”

“People change,” Gavin answered philosophically, without any spite. “You could use some change too, Peggie Dent. Wait ‘til some tight-tit android takes your place with a sugary smile and good manners.”

“It’ll be long before this happens here,” Peggie replied carelessly, and Gavin thought somberly, _There was a time we didn’t think so either._

 

Debra Reed was sincerely amazed to see her coworker at the diner’s door. She looked over at the clock in surprise: it showed half past five in the morning. But she forgot it all as soon as she saw Gavin. Peggie watched with a sneer how Gavin had to bow so that Debra could wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him all over.

 _Mommy’s boy,_ she articulated with just her lips. Gavin flipped her off and replied just as soundlessly:

 _Fuck you, Peg._ And then added aloud, “I’m glad you’re feeling better already. Lookin’ good, Peg! Alright then, see ya.”

Once outside, Debra asked him disapprovingly:

“You haven’t woken her up, have you, Gavin?”

“Of course not, ma. Ran into her on the street. Really, I did.”

 

Once at home, Detective Reed finally got his much suffered-for cup of coffee with some mouth-wateringly smelling toast. The tiny family delightfully discussed their plans for tomorrow. They decided it’d be nice to have a walk and a picnic in the Heritage Park.

“I know a wonderful spot there,” Debra said. “And they’re saying the weather’s going to be just great.”

“Wait up,” Gavin suddenly said, looking out the kitchen window, “does the Hunt hound still come to do his business on our lawn?”

His mother looked through the window too, wrinkled her nose, but said conciliatorily:

“It’s just an animal, you can’t expect much from it.”

“An animal that’s got an owner,” Gavin retorted reasonably and went out to the front yard.

The tiny Yorkie, evil as the Devil himself, had already done its shameful deed on the Reeds’ lawn and bared its petty white teeth at the human. It was clearly ready to show him who’s boss. Alas, the daring Yorkie let the opponent step too close, for which it was punished in the most demeaning way possible.

Gavin swiftly picked up the dog, dug its muzzle into the steaming pile, stirred nicely to and fro and with a light, graceful motion threw the howling beast over the hedge, onto the territory of its owners. On the porch, Mrs Hunt had already emerged, gridding her bathrobe. She squinted poor-sightedly at Gavin, then at the hysteric Yorkie by the hedge, then at its muzzle, sullied in something dark…

“Mornin’, Mrs Hunt,” Gavin greeted the woman pleasantly. She pursed her lips and said nothing. Reed continued, “Nice weather today, isn’t it?”

Mrs Hunt glanced suspiciously at the drizzled grass and the overcast sky and asked, not bothering to mask her annoyance:

“Here for long?”

“Don’t know yet,” Gavin dodged. “I can stay just until your hellhound remembers it’s got nothing to catch on my lawn. How about that, eh, Mrs Hunt?”

The woman blurted out out of nowhere, as if finishing an old thought:

“No mother deserves a punishment like you, Gavin Reed.”

Gavin smiled viciously and replied in tune with the old witch, “You’re right, it’s all very unfortunate. But you could comfort my poor mother by cleaning up your shit from her lawn. Or else... you know where abandoned shitpiles can end up, right?”

Mrs Hunt knew too well. And she had no doubt that Reed’s threats would not go without follow-up.

Gavin came back into the house, washed his hands and took the now cold mug. While his mother was putting away the dishes, he snuck his phone out and checked the inbox. No missed calls, no texts. Not like he was expecting any. Just a check-up. He slid the phone back into the pocket, feeling slightly annoyed.

 _Come on, what the hell,_ he said to himself. _I’m on holiday, I’m having a break and fuck that work where the sun don’t shine. They can do without me._ But the thought that they could do just fine without him somehow made Gavin even more bitter. He finally decided to have the break of a lifetime, starting with a good night’s sleep.

 

And so the long leisured hours began, filled with relaxed visits to the convenience store, park walks, old movies before bedtime, unpleasant encounters with classmates or teachers, who smiled sourly at Reed and hurried along to get rid of the uninvited Detroit guest as soon as possible. Gavin listened with the patience worthy of the wisest Christian martyrs to his mother’s stories about the local events, the older and newer Taylor inhabitants, about the kinds of petunia she wanted to plant in the front yard but just couldn’t seem to choose between all the colourful samples in the catalog. She needed to ask Gavin, who couldn’t tell petunias from wild radish even if his life was hanging by a thread.

“This one,” he poked a finger at a huge terry flower, snow-white with a bright blue lining. Then he added, glancing at his phone, “I’ll go get myself some cigarettes.”

“Are you expecting a call from someone?” his mother asked, while Gavin was getting dressed.

“I’m not, why?”

“It’s just that you’re always looking at your phone,” Debra smiled. “Is it someone I should know about? Your new friend, maybe?”

It took Gavin some time to collect his thoughts for an answer, but, putting on his jacket, he said quite confidently:

“I’m worried for my coworkers, how they’re doing without me, that’s all.” And, feeling another question coming about his so-called new friend, whom she’d brought up the third time that evening, he promised, “I’ll be right back.” He then went outside, trying to imagine what his mother would’ve said if she found out he’d been working with an android the whole time. Sure enough, a deeply religious Catholic as herself wouldn’t like it.

 

He had already given up on trying to dispel the sleepy Taylor dullness, coming back from a small store at the corner, but heavens decided to spare the deathly bored detective that day.

Near a family-run jewelry that belonged to the Coopers, fourth-generation Taylor natives, he spotted a police vehicle and the familiar yellow tape. Not thinking twice, Gavin turned out of his way and straight to the building, cutting through the neat untended lawn. He ducked under the police tape — the people in Taylor still used the fossil instead of the usual modern hologram. Gavin noted right away that the lawn in front of the facade was footworn, with the prints clearly not belonging to the offenders, but to the police workers who rummaged about the place about as delicately as a mammoth herd.

“What a fucking mess,” he concluded, grading the work of the local department, and looked at the plump policeman who’d been facing away from Gavin and didn’t even notice a civilian on the crime scene. Reed made use of no one trying to stop him and marched straight into the building like he owned the place. Stopped at the door and assessed the situation. Noted that the Coopers were definitely going to need some renovation.

 

The local chief, also Gavin’s neighbour, discussed something under his breath with another officer. He turned at the sound of the footsteps and started abruptly:

“Who the hell... “ He stammered, recalling the face momentarily. The horrible child of his neighbour, Debra. Reed, the hellkid. The unbearable beastling that loved to plant dog feces in his mailbox and, thank God, moved out to Detroit almost immediately after high school.

“Detroit police,” Gavin pressed through his teeth, his eyes slowly examining the crime scene. “Is this how the Taylor cops work? Should’ve let some pigs run around the scene, even they would’ve left it cleaner.”

“Oh, Officer Reed,” the chief greeted him coldly. He had already got the news of Gavin’s visit and heard enough from his wife about his neighbour’s recent stunt.

“Detective Reed,” Gavin corrected. Hunt’s face went pink ever so slightly, but he tried to contain himself in front of his subordinate.

“And what’s your business here, Detective? As you can see, we’ve got enough staff over here.”

“Enough it is,” Reed agreed. “Can’t imagine how hard it was to get so many model imbeciles in one place.”

 

The nearby officer displayed an exemplary jawdrop. Gavin couldn’t recall his face, so he assumed the officer was not from around here. Hunt answered after a meaningful pause, lowering his voice in hostility:

“Listen here, Reed.” Something grim flared up momentarily in his eyes. “You’d better get your ass outta here. This ain’t your territory, Mr City Mouse. We’ll manage, don’t you worry.”

Gavin threw his arms in the air mockingly and rolled his eyes:

“Of course I won’t, Chief, why would I? It’s only just an aggravated robbery in my mother’s neighbourhood, taken care of by a chief who can’t even conduct evidence collection with any sort of adequacy,” and, switching to a gravely serious tone, he finished, “nothing at all to worry about. I’m sure the procedure control department will agree.”

“The fuck do you want?” Hunt decided he was better off not aggravating the asshole. He had no desire to verify if the guy was really going to snitch on a chief who only had a couple of years until retirement, or if it was cheap annoying bluff.

 

“Nothing too fancy, Chief. I just want to have a look around. Perhaps we be allies for a while, Taylor and Detroit, eh? Watcha think? After all, we’re still fighting the same fight.” Gavin winked, grinning crookedly. It’s not like he pitied the Coopers or was actually worried that the robbers would pay a visit to Debra. No, he only wanted to have a breath of fresh air and tug the old dipshit by the mustache, after years of him threatening the next-door boy with juvenile court and repeating smugly, “This is all bad genes for ya!”

 

And since Hunt wasn’t too keen on the idea of joining their efforts into a pure professional bliss, Gavin didn’t wait for him and started walking around the area, glass shards crunching under his feet. Every single one of the display windows was shattered. Behind the counter lay the disfigured cash register. Reed crouched next to it and asked:

“What, do they still take cash?”

“Oh, look who we’ve got here, big city guy,” Hunt couldn’t refrain from sarcasm. “As you can see, we still have the good old evergreen here in Taylor.”

Since Reed had no reaction to the picking, Hunt said suspiciously:

“And what makes you think the robbery was aggravated?”

He regretted the question immediately. Reed stood up from behind the counter and answered with a pained expression:

“That I’ve still got both my eyeballs, maybe? Do you people all work for the special needs forces or what? Those huge-ass bloodstains on the wall are definitely not there ‘cause of a kid messing around with finger paint. What’s with Mr Cooper? Still breathing?”

“He is,” Hunt replied, disgruntled, thinking about how well the “huge-ass bloodstains” blended in with the pattern on the ancient wallpapers and the dark cherry colour of the fleecy carpet. They were pretty hard to notice in the dim light of the shop.

“Do you have a list of the stolen items?” Gavin asked, examining the shitty handiwork of wood and leather. “Anything valuable?”

“Fuck knows,” Hunt snarled. “Do you want me to go interrogate the old Minnie while Ed's lying around in a hospital bed unconscious?”

“That’s exactly what I want you to do,” Gavin pressed. “And if you've got so big of a problem with it, I righteously volunteer for the mission. Where is she?”

Minnie Cooper didn't at all look like a woman who was incapable to comprehend the scale of the robbery. In the course of some ten minutes, they managed to go over every single display window and make an explicit list of missing items.

“They only took the silver: bracelets, necklaces, charms, earrings, you name it. There was lots of turquoise and coral, too.”

“How much value do you think it all holds?” Gavin asked, knowing nothing whatsoever about these kinds of trinkets.

Minnie smiled. She was a lively woman in her fifties, always smartly dressed and, as it later turned out, always composed, even in the direst of circumstances. Her answer was:

“All in all, these things don't have much merit. Though, it'll still add up to about five grand. But if you sell the jewelry as it is, and not as silver scrap… I don't get it. Seems silly.”

“How much did the register hold?”

“It's quiet season now, Detective. The register's nearly empty, had less than a hundred dollars in it.”

Gavin pondered for a second and asked, “Is there anything more valuable than these toys in the house itself?” And, seeing Minnie's hesitation, he added quietly, “This is important, ma’am. It'll help us understand the motives.”

Minnie locked arms with Gavin and led him outside, followed by Hunt's heavy judgemental stare.

“Detective… Gavin, I mean,” she said, surprising him with how she knew his name at all. “I've got a couple of things that could catch a robber's eye. The so-called family treasure, an emerald set.”

“Is it gone?”

“I haven't checked. It’s very well-hidden,” she said, and, reading from Gavin's face that the thought was beyond silly, she added, “do you think I should?”

 

“Your husband just nearly got killed for a sack of silver scrap and a hundred bucks,” Gavin answered. “Not a very convincing motive, considering how there are emeralds hidden somewhere in the same house. Perhaps you should check after all? I'll wait for you right here.”

Minnie nodded and went back in. Gavin caught the bewildered gaze of the same assistant Gavin had shocked earlier that day with his lack of respect for the chief. The phone rang in his pocket: Fowler was calling. Gavin gestured an “I'm watchin’ ya” at the dogface and stepped aside.

“Aye, Captain! All quiet on the Detroit front?”

“When you're getting your ass back in the office, that's what I'd like to know,” Fowler said, not beating around the bush.

“What is it, someone's missing my ass already? You've let me off for the week, Captain,“ Gavin reminded. “And it's only been three days, so you're not seeing my ass anytime-”

“The situation's changed. We've got a problem,” Fowler said in a somewhat perplexed tone, as if he himself had trouble believing that, when it came to a problematic situation, it was Gavin Reed who could help.

“I don’t get it.”

“It’s been three days and your android has already made four of our detectives turn him over, you know what I’m saying?”

“And what’s it got to do with me?”

“Absolutely everything. The machine’s driven Ben to a mental breakdown. And all the others just came in and turned it over with no explanation.”

“Wait, that was an option?!”

“Don’t you fucking start this, Gavin. Get your ass off the couch and into the precinct, nap time’s over.”

Gavin protested. “I don’t see what the problem is. They don’t want to work with him, fine, leave him in the corner then and send him into sleep mode. Dust once a day for preservation.”

“So you think I haven’t thought of that? Who do you take me for, a complete idiot? This… machine has given me a whole goddamn lecture on inefficient guidance, wasting android and human resources, on the damage we do to the American economy and on how our attitude to the staff is criminal misconduct. Threatened me with a report to all the right places if I put him on hold and leave him without a substitute.”

“I’m sorry? Am I hearing things? Or did he really threaten you?” Gavin grinned so widely that Fowler could hear it.

“Is that so fucking funny to you, Reed? Alright, okay. I admit it, you’ve had it… hard, working with him. I was wrong. Happy now?”

And Gavin was happy indeed. All the suffering was worth the moment: Fowler was nearly apologizing for his “don’t bullshit me, Reed” and “androids can’t have a temper!”.

“I can’t imagine how you’ve been handling him this whole time. I had the impression yesterday that he was doing it all out of… spite.”

“Jeffrey,” Gavin replied calmly and steadily, “have my word for it — the impression was right.”

“So, when are you coming back?”

“Not today, either way, Cap, got some urgent business to attend to. You’ll have to wait ‘til tomorrow.”

“And what do you fucking think I should do in the remaining four hours? What do I do with the dipshit?”

“You could assign him to Brown, the guy looks calm as a Hindu cow. He’ll make it to the end of the shift, I’m telling ya.”

“Alright, I’ll try, but tomorrow you need to be here point blank,” Fowler demanded, clearly happy that Gavin didn’t act all holy for very long — after all, Jeffrey did promise him the whole week off.

 

Gavin had barely hung up before Minnie came back, looking anxious:

“It’s gone!”

 _Who would’ve thought,_ Gavin remarked snarkily, but kept it to himself not to upset the poor lady.

“Describe the jewelry.”

“It was a set… A brooch, a bracelet and a choker necklace, there used to be a ring once, but-”

“A choking- what?”

“A choker necklace… Oh, and here’s a picture of my grandmother with the set.” She slid a hand into her pocket and took out a framed photograph. Gavin took a close look: in the aged yellow picture a thin, short-haired brunette was standing, posing playfully. Glittering kitten heels, a dress distinctive for the age. The perfect billboard from the uproarious twenties. A bracelet and a tiny ring on her sticking-out hand, a round brooch on her chest. Around her neck something glittering was wrapped, something reminiscent of a necktie. Gavin looked even closer:

“That one?”

“Yes, correct.”

“And how much could all of this cost?”

“The vintage jewelry, you mean? A lot, Gavin. I’d never sell it, of course… It was gifted to my great-grandmother by a very… enthusiastic admirer. I don’t have anywhere to wear these to, but they mean a whole lot to me. It’s not even the money that’s the problem. But you still need to know the exact value, right? I believe it’s no less than a hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

“Not bad. And who could possibly know that jewels this valuable were hidden in your house? And, most importantly, where exactly?”

Minnie replied straightforwardly, “Just my husband. But you don’t think that?..”

“Oh, of course not! Could I?…” Gavin said, pointing at the picture. The woman nodded, and Gavin copied the picture to his phone.

_Oh, of course I do, Mrs Cooper. A hundred and fifty grand is a good motive for sure._

“Thank you for the information, Mrs Cooper.”

She nodded and left back to the house. Gavin thought that she reacted quite calmly to her husband’s…

“Oh, and by the way,” he turned to the officer who’d been hanging around nearby and kept throwing apprehensive glances at the detective. “What’s with Mr Cooper, after all?”

“A stab wound,” the officer replied. Seeing Gavin’s dissatisfaction with the answer, he added, trying to recall the details that the others had given him, “Mhmm… Stabbed in the shoulder, if I remember correctly, not lethally, but he’s lost quite some blood…”

“Alright, stop right there. Let’s get this mess together. You’ve recorded Mr Cooper’s statement, I hope?”

The officer readily gave Gavin all the information they had at their disposal. It went: Ed and Minnie Cooper were going to go out of town to visit their relatives, set off yesterday evening, but for some reason came back early next morning…

“For what reason exactly?”

“I haven’t asked…”

“Great fucking’ job, detective. Come on, what’s next?”

“But aren’t they… victims? Why’d you interrogate them?”

Gavin regarded the dogface with disgustful pity. Unwilling to waste any more time explaining the obvious to this human piece of driftwood, he demanded:

“Go on, ‘tis not a first date, we don’t have all day.”

“Mrs Cooper wanted to go buy some groceries, Ed dropped her off and left for home…”

“By car?”

“By car.”

“So, the loving husband thought that his fifty-something wife could drag her shopping bags all the way home by herself, while he could skip the waiting and leave right away without her? Am I understanding this correctly? What’s causing him this much of a hurry? Did he get so terribly homesick, what with leaving his family nest for three whole hours?”

The officer correctly estimated the question to be rhetoric. He continued:

“Once Ed entered through the back door, he heard a noise coming from the jewelry. He went in… no weapon on him.” And although the weapon was the officer’s own addition to the story, he suddenly realized something and blurted out, gasping at the brilliance of the conjecture, “Though, they do have a license for an M1911, that I know for sure.”

“Oh, wow, turns out you have a few brain cells after all. And I thought you were some kind of jellyfish, only good for eating and crapping out what you ate.”

The officer had trouble deciding how to feel about the dubious compliment, but he had no desire to bicker with the toxic as a black mamba Gavin Reed.

“He entered the shop, and the robber, who wore a black mask, jumped at him with a knife, stabbed him once in the shoulder and escaped through the window.”

“Any recognisable features?”

“Average height, lanky, dark clothing, wore a jacket… Nothing too memorable.”

“What about footprints by the window? Have you found any?” Gavin asked and, seeing the officer’s guilty look, pressed through his teeth, “Christ, what a fuckin’ job. Have you asked around, at least? Taylor’s just the kind of middle of nowhere whose people should all be awake at night spying on each other, so someone somewhere must’ve seen our guy.”

“No one has,” the policeman declared with newfound confidence. “No one's seen anyone, we've asked around the whole neighbourhood.”

_Don't you fucking say. You'd need to be goddamn invisible to pass through this street completely unnoticed._

And how to catch someone who's invisible, that Gavin didn't know. He looked left, then right, then bit his thumbnail in contemplation. This only went on for so long before he tossed at the officer, “I'll go grab myself a cigarette.” Even though he had a newly bought pack in his pocket.

He headed for Quick Buy, a nearby convenience shop, and found right away what he was looking to find.

 

“What's up, Jay?” he greeted, leaning against the brick wall of the shop and pulling out a cigarette pack.

“Jay's doin’ good, always is,” the bearded man replied, who's made himself comfortable on a piece of cardboard by the wall. He was wrapped in such a thick layer of rag that, for someone twenty feet apart, he was easily mistakable for a gigantic trash bag. “Jay's doin’ good, not like you slaves of the system. What’s a free man to worry about?”

Gavin took out a cigarette, lit it up and gave the rest to Jay, who hid it in one of his numerous pockets without a word. He gave Gavin another assessing look and grumbled:

“I see you're one of ‘em slaves now. 'Tis a shame, you were a good fella.”

“Yeah, I was,” Gavin said lazily. “But, you know, Jay, slavery has its perks, otherwise we’d all be free men, just like you.”

“Perks, you say? Like what?”

“Unlimited access to soap and tap water.”

“Don’t be a wuss, Gav. Buddha never washed once, you know.”

With Jay, a dispute like this could go on till dawn and longer. This wasn’t in Gavin’s plans, so he decided to cut to the chase:

“Hey, Gautama, how ‘bout the system fighters here in Taylor? One a’ those robbed a shop today and went through the window. The weird thing, though, is that not one of the neighbours saw him.”

“Then, no one ever got out that window in the first place,” Jay remarked matter-of-factly, and Gavin saw all the sense in that.

“Oh well, then we’re looking for Mr Invisible,” Gavin voiced his old thought absent-mindedly.

“Or a time-traveler.”

Gavin tensed up, but he refrained from asking further questions — he could tell that Jay was bored and only wanted to have some chit-chat instead of actually saying whatever he’d heard or seen.

 

Reed pondered. _A time-traveler, huh? Ed’s got a stab wound, but nobody saw the offender get out of the window. So, whoever’s lying? The neighbours, or Ed, or Jay?_

There couldn’t be any doubt about Jay. And what about the neighbours? Those assholes feed on gossip more than food or water. They’d give the police twenty pages worth of detailed description. That meant that only the Coopers were left, who claimed to have their shop robbed early in the morning and not at night. That conjecture alone painted the robber in the worst light possible, since you’d have to have an odd number of chromosomes to make a morning fuss in a town where most of the people are up by 5 AM like a schoolboy’s dignity.

All in all… Fuck knows. At that point, he’d probably have to give up. But right at the moment when Gavin wanted to hurry Jay into a coherent explanation, he asked:

“Are the evenings here still dark as a miner’s asshole?”

“Yep. The citizens don’ like projectors. I don’ like ‘em too, even though no one asked me.”

“And if someone were, say, to sneak right there in the evening,” Gavin pointed at the lawn behind the Coopers’ house, “no one would notice too?”

“You say so. How’d anyone spot a guy all in back in this kinna darkness? No way, man.”

Gavin had a strong urge to tell Jay how sick he was of his marvelous fables, but the man was his only hope. It’s either you play his mind games or you shove your questions where the sun don’t shine.

Gavin’s skin has thickened quite a noticeable lot since December. So he made another strategic move, asking a completely unrelated question:

“Taylor doesn’t seem to change, eh, Jay? It’s like I’ve never moved out at all.”

Jay looked up at him and answered thoughtfully, “Yeah, some things ‘round here stay the same… But you, Gav, you’ve changed some.”

“Well, for one, I’ve grown up a bit since the time I’d ask you to buy me cigs and then sneak them to Marioland so that mom wouldn’t find out.”

 

Marioland was a name that the locals had given to a junkyard filled with broken or decommissioned concrete pipes near the factory that produced them. The local rascals loved the striking landmark to bits, while everyone else in Taylor couldn’t feel less proud of it.

“You know, sometimes it’s good for you to remember your childhood,” Jay said expressively. They exchanged glances once again, and there was left no need for any further exchanges.

Gavin peeled himself off the wall and said, “Alright, Jay, see ya.”

“See ya, Uncle Sam’s boytoy,” Jay reflected warmly.

And so, Gavin went straight where his childhood was left. The place had changed a little since the distant times of Gavin’s boyhood: the junk had grown, the cleaved concrete slabs had gained in number, the leafy bushes had made the place even easier to hide in than before. If the thiefling was lying low somewhere around there, it wouldn’t be very hard to find him.

  


_Richard would've spotted the trace just like that, the shithead_ , Gavin thought, but then he winced as if from a sudden toothache.

“I'll do without the sentient forensics lab,” he mumbled, annoyed at himself for as much as thinking about the dipshit, thanks to whom he was now waking up early in the morning to make it to work in time. He could, of course, make a fuss at Hunt's precinct and send his staff to search the area, but the krill couldn’t spot their own dicks without an elaborate map, let alone some nifty fucker in the pipes of Marioland, a perfect hideaway. Gavin examined the nearest pipes, quickly growing tired of the pointless endeavor.

_To hell with playing Sherlock, time for some change of tactics._

“Hey, fuckface!” Gavin’s yell was thunderous. “I know you’re there. I know I’ll break my back before I find you. So here’s… here’s a forecast for the next ten or fifteen years of yours, give or take.”

 

Gavin found a comfy spot atop a junk hill. He didn’t know how well the thief could hear him, or if he was heard at all and wasn’t just yelling into the void like a complete lunatic. He simply sat there and spoke.

 

“I have a feeling they’ll eventually get you with a sack of silver scrap that you honestly need like a hole in the head. They’ll have you by the balls, don’t you worry. If you had anywhere to go, you wouldn’t be hiding away in this kind of shithole. How old are you, eh? Seventeen, max, I fucking bet ya. The grownups don’t poke their heads in this place.”

 

Gavin stopped. Apart from the distant freeway rumble and the hiss of the wind in the swaying bushes, he couldn’t hear a thing. Nevertheless, he continued:

“And from this shithole you’ll go straight to someplace very unpleasant. You see, you don’t get into nice places for murdering upstanding Taylor citizens. So you’ll be...”

 

“I never killed nobody!” a yell came from behind. It took Gavin some effort not to turn around.

“Yeah, sure. Ed stabbed himself then,” Gavin continued his shameless lie. “After robbing his own jewelry, isn’t that right? You grabbed yourself a hundred and fifty grand worth of glitter, and why would anyone believe that it wasn’t you who killed the guy?”

“ _What?!”_

Gavin finally turned at the desperate cry. The boy looked definitely younger that seventeen. Tall and lanky, round-shouldered, his features still completely childish and his huge dark eyes full of sincere horror. Gavin couldn’t recall his face, but, since the detective never really came around, the boy could well be a kid to some classmate of his. Gavin fidgeted around his cold concrete seat and got up, swiping the dust off his jeans.

“Alright, tell me what’s really happened, will ya? And by the way, about the glitter…” He reached for his phone and got down to the boy, who stood frozen, holding on with one hand to the side of a pipe poking out of the ground. Gavin handed the boy the black-and-white picture. “Ever seen these?”

“N-n-no… All I got is...” the boy waved a hand to the side.

Gavin walked around him and saw a dusty black backpack left in the bushes. He crouched nearby, fumbled around the backpack, pulled out an entire handful of forged jewels, bracelets, charms with colourful laces…

“And this crap is what you broke into the Coopers’ for?”

“I didn’t break in,” the boy answered quietly. “They gave it to me. Told me to hide it…”

“The fuck are you talking about?” Gavin frowned and looked closer into the face of the lousy robber. There was something in it that Gavin didn’t like at all. “Are you high?”

The boy flinched at the question. His eyes darted.

“They told you to hide it, who’s they? Where did you get all this?”

“Mrs Cooper…”

“You’re fucking lying!” Gavin got up and walked right up to the boy, grabbing his jacket at the collar. “You’re a fucking drughead and you’re lying to me!”

He didn’t even try to fight back. Gavin jerked him by the collar and demanded:

“Say it how it is! Or I swear to fucking god I’ll hand you right over to Hunt, and he’ll make sure that no one will ever get to hear whatever the fuck you have to say. Go on, I’m waiting.”

“I never killed nobody.”

“Suppose that’s true.”

“I never stole any… glitter!”

“Suppose I believe that bullshit as well.”

“They gave me the backpack and…”

“And?” Gavin jerked the hesitating boy once again. “What else did they give you?”

 

The boy reached for his pocket and took out a see-through bag with trembling hands. Gavin clutched his wrist and peered into the familiar blood-red crystals.

“Have you opened it?” The boy shook his head. “Good. Now tell me what Mrs Cooper gave you this for and, most importantly, why the hell you took it.”

“They caught me at night, when I was… smoking behind their house. Mr Ed… he dragged me into the house and kept yelling that he’d hand me in to the cops, and Mrs Cooper… She said I must convince them not to tell my mom and stepfather.”

“It wasn’t exactly Chesterfield you were smoking, I suppose? So, they asked you to hide this backpack in return for keeping silent, right?”

“They told me they’d forget what they saw. And offered…”

“Offered you some tasty ice, got it. Did your mommy drop you a bit too much or what? Couldn’t you tell that Mrs Cooper wasn’t giving you a backpack full of silver just ‘cause she felt like it?”

“She said I didn’t have a choice.” The boy looked at Gavin pleadingly. “That it was their word against mine, that they…”

“That they’re business owners and town natives, and you’re son of a hooker and a drughead. White trash. Yeah, you’re right, Hunt’s not gonna believe a word you’re saying.” The boy was about to burst into tears, but Gavin cheered him up, “Though, my word, that he’ll have to believe. Take the fucking backpack. We’ll go pay a visit to the grieving Mrs Cooper, I want a look at that bitch’s face when she sees you.”

 

It was definitely one of the worst mornings in Chief Hunt’s career. A robbery, topped with an armed assault, wasn’t the most pleasant to tackle. The insufferable Gavin Reed, who jumped at him out of the blue like a Jack in the box, was now sitting in the chief’s office and going on about such bullshit that all Hunt wanted was to close his ears and yell just to drown out the smug voice. He felt the urge to wipe away that crooked scornful grin, to shove all the advice down the throat of that wayward unshaven bastard… _Call up a proper search party, Chief, your retard army won’t do shit, admit it, look for the toys, look for the knife,_ and _hand in the ice for analysis,_ and _see if there’s insurance for the jewels,_ and _check how the Coopers are doing financially,_ and so on, and on, and on. Those pieces of advice added up to a completely unbelievable story. Hunt was choking with rage, and the only thing keeping him at peace with the newly discovered evidence was the fact that they were in the room alone, and none of the staff could see their chief’s humiliation. Officer White was already eyeing the asshole like a puppy, full of sincerest admiration, as if Gavin was some kind of a guru. When the detective was done bombarding Hunt with his reasonings, grins and demands, all he could do was squeeze out:

“We went to school together, her and I…”

Gavin finally shut up. His stare studied the chief. The grin was gone. Once the chief couldn’t bear the gaze anymore and looked at his feet, Gavin replied:

“I get it. Shared your desk, all that. But you don’t want to share the dock with her as well, do you?” And, seeing no reaction, Reed added, “Look, whatever you make of the person, you’re a policeman first. Dislike the boy all you want, but he’s not a criminal. And as for your good old Minnie… pray that I’m wrong about the exact dose that she gave him, because an overdosed teenager with a sack of her fucking trinkets would be too good of an alibi.”

 

Hunt nodded, and Gavin didn’t stay for a thank you. He got up and left the office. In the tiny questioning room, which had been hastily freed of the mops and boxes that usually occupied it, the dispirited boy sat.

“Fuck’s up with your face, eh, Kevin? You’re supposed to be melting with glee that I happened to be in town today. Where’s my fucking thanks?”

“Thank you…” the boy whispered.

Gavin decided not to push it, waved a hand and said, leaving the room:

“Get your shit together. Next time you won’t be so lucky, I rarely come on tour round here.”

 

Exiting the precinct, Gavin trudged to the store once again. He admired the display windows, all in flowers and valentine cards, at the plush toys and the boxes of chocolate.

“What a shitshow,” he murmured aloud and entered the confectionery shop.

The sun had already set by the time Gavin came home. He needed to tell his mother that he was leaving tomorrow, but he found her sleeping in front of the plasma screen, wrapped in the gifted blanket. Gavin turned down the volume, flicked off the lamp and headed for his bedroom. He fell asleep almost immediately, but a sudden cellphone shrill jerked him out of the sweet careless slumber.

 

“Fucking hell.” Gavin peeled his eyes open and saw an incoming call from Officer Brown, who was among his contacts, but who’d never called him before. _The fuck do you need, of all people?!_

“Detective Reed speaking.”

“Thank god, Gavin!” None of the colleagues had greeted him like this before. And no one had ever felt so relieved at the sound of Reed’s charming voice. Brown was out of it for sure. From his end, something was booming and yelling loudly — there was music.

“How can I help you, Brown?” Red asked in the midst of a yawn.

“It’s… it’s your android. Please tell him to get me… to get me home or at least to a bus stop, at least to a highway, any highway with cars passing.”

“You tell him yourself, what’s the issue?”

“I did! I told him the shift was over three hours ago, told him to stop, to…” Something was rattling on his end so loudly that Brown’s voice was drowning, and Gavin couldn’t make out the rest of the sentence.

“What are you, at a concert or something?”

“We’re in a forest! _A forest, Gavin, a fucking forest!_ ” Reed glanced at the window — it was darker than at the bottom of the Mariana trench. The night, the woods, the bashing music... What the hell was RK900 up to? “I can’t seem to get through to Fowler, nor to the precinct, nor to a taxi even! Your number’s the only one picking up! Can you talk to him?”

 _Oh well, what a coincidence. However that came to be?_ Gavin replied with some degree of annoyance:

“What for? Oh no, Brown, you deal with him on your own, my rest’s been snatched away as it is, and here you are waking me up.”

“How the hell am I supposed to deal with him?! He’s not listening to a word I say! I’m like, who looks for bodies in the middle of the night, let’s get a search party, and he hands me a fucking torch! A torch, Gavin!”

“A torch’s a torch, what of it? Makes sense, it’s night after all, as you say. Hasn’t he given you a shovel?”

Although Gavin was speaking with utmost seriousness, laughter started crawling up his throat. He could already picture: a homesick Brown, striving for his warm bed, and an unyielding RK900, blocking the car doors, foisting him a torch and ordering, “Go!”

 

“You know what, Fred, I’ll give you a hint on how you can get home. Won’t even have to hitch a ride. He’ll drive you himself, take you home and kiss you goodnight, so that the nightmares all scare off.”

“How?”  Brown asked, full of hope.

“Just do whatever he says. Don’t fight. Don’t talk for the sake of it. Give him what he’s asking for, and you’re free as a bird. All in all, good luck on your search, see ya in the precinct,” Gavin hung up, not doubting for a second that a certain someone was listening in.

 

All sleep was gone. He went out to smoke on the porch, looking at the black pine trees lining the dark-blue night sky. Gavin felt chilly, only wearing a T-shirt, but the February air cleared his head with a fresh, rainy smell, which had in it the slightest hint of spring. Gavin pictured the poor Brown, running around the woods with a torch, afraid to the death of finding what they were looking for. Beside him was his gendarme, his white sleeves flaring shortly among the trees in the dim forest. The predatory eyes are glimmering, scanning the windbreak for the half-decayed body. Gavin recognised the blasting music — he even knew why it was on. He felt a bit of pity for Brown, but Gavin couldn’t help thinking, _Welcome to my fucking life, Fred!_ It wouldn’t cost him anything to hop into his mother’s car and take a twenty-minute ride to Detroit, then find Brown, send him off and search the woods for the rest of the night — his sleepiness had dispelled either way — but he thought that it would be unfair to take the fun away from RK900.

 

An hour away from the house of Debra Reed, in the big, untended and littered to the death Rouge Park, a closed police car was standing. A very energetic sound came out the lowered window, with a masculine voice growling menacingly:

 

«God, you really think you have balls?

I hate you, ain't it true,

I hate you and everything you do…»

 

And so on, on repeat, as if the device was stuck on this one song from Reed’s playlist. He liked putting it on during moments of his and RK900’s disagreements on important professional matters. Meaning it was on pretty often.

 

Among the trees, a lonely light was jerking about, mindlessly and nervously. Dry twigs crunched under someone’s feet. RK900 marched through the forest alongside Officer Brown, searching the designated area as thoroughly as possible. He knew that the officer was horrified of the dark, the aggressive music, the possibility of finding the chilling treasure. He was shaking with fear and cold. The cold eyes of the android were examining the ground dispassionately, stopping at fallen trees or abandoned trash bags, where the body could possibly be hidden. He felt… bored? Annoyed? Very probably both. Brown was boring. He couldn’t entertain RK900 in the slightest and only kept up a whine, dull, monotonous, unimaginative.

All the people he’s worked with during Gavin’s leave — the plump Ben Collins, officers Chen, Wilson, Miller… and now Brown — they were all trite, predictable, not invoking any scientific interest. So much unlike Gavin. He was a curious specimen of the human nature: aggressive, biased, insecure, lazy, ambitious, prone to lies and excuses. His reactions to danger, threat, pain, criticism were all utterly amusing. Besides, he could adapt to any circumstances, to any whim of the android, but he never gave up on his attempts to shake the partner off his back. Always tried to wriggle out. It was satisfying to give him the opportunity and then take it away at the last moment, catching him like a cat by the tail. And then enjoy his frustration.

 

RK900 examined the detective with interest as he cussed, went pale with pain and red with rage, as he fought his sleep in the car if the shift lasted well into the night, as he attacked food at last, as he acted as if he just loved double americano, no sugar, as he stretched, as he bit his thumbnail in times of deep thought…

Sometimes the detective would fire up at the slightest attempt of physical contact, started dispensing death threats upon any accidental touch — like, for instance, when a sleeve brushed against him. And at other times he let it slide completely, even when RK900 took him by the hand or pushed him slightly in the back. So illogical. So amusing.

And how about the tears he accidentally witnessed? RK900 had therapist instructions in him and knew how to act in such a situation. He knew perfectly well that Reed would’ve liked it better if he left and didn’t see his bout of hysteria. But RK900 stayed, for he simply wanted to see it. He wanted to feel the weight of the limp body in his arms, wanted to feel Reed pressing up against him, to hear the stifled sobbing, to watch his helplessness and desperation. So unusual. So pleasing.

RK900 wasn’t going to put up with the boredom for another four days. When Brown was done talking to Reed on the phone, he decided to rush the officer around the woods just an hour more and then take him home. He’d already noticed the body near a garbage pile — it was carefully covered with dirt and plastic sacks, so Brown wouldn’t be able to spot it even in broad daylight. RK900 thought to save the body for Reed. After all, Brown’s main task for the day had already been fulfilled — tomorrow morning Reed will be back, by RK900’s side…

 

The sunny Valentine’s morning caressed the faces of occasional passers-by with its fresh, gentle, spring-like breath. The morning peeked through the windows, stretched its warm rays from behind the curtains, glimmered among the leafless ash-trees. On the railing of Peggie Dent’s terrace lied a dainty yet sumptuous box, ribboned with red satin. Inside the astonished waitress found an amazingly smelling, heart-shaped Red Velvet cake. It was accompanied by a tiny note. Peggie unfolded it, hands shaking, and read:

 

_Stuff it less, smile it more._

_Forever yours,_

_Gavin_

 

Two houses away from Peggie, Mrs Hunt was checking her mailbox. When she cried out for the whole neighbourhood to hear, Peggie looked out her kitchen window, where she’d already been stuffing it with the delicious present. Gavin himself, of course, could no longer hear the cry — he had just finished taking a piss at the pole of the “Welcome to Taylor!” billboard. He zipped up and paced cheerfully to the bus stop.


	4. March 1, 2039 — The black spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter revolves around the topic of suicide. While the characters portrayed do not struggle with mental illness, the theme itself is still very sensitive - skip to the next chapter if you're not comfortable with it!

 

> _Don't kill yourself five minutes before the miracle._  
>  — Lawrence Block

“Come on, Collins, are you making the bet or not? Give it up already, time’s money!”  
“Ah, to hell with ya, Gavin. Ten bucks that the first one comes in before midday.”  
“Hah! Get your ass ready!”  
“RE-E-ED!” Fowler yelled from his office. “I’ll have your mouth stuffed with soap bars if you don’t fucking shut it! Swear to God, I won't make it to retirement…”  
“And how about you, Chief? Want to place a bet?” Reed asked, ignoring the threats that have by now become routine. “You killed it last year, want another round?”  
Fowler squinted at Reed, but then slammed a palm against the table and said:  
“Happens before half-past nine, I can feel it.”  
“That's bold!” Gavin admired, adding Fowler to the list. “You're a risky one, eh, Cap? Tina, what about you?”  
“I'm with Ben.”  
“Anderson?”  
“Piss off, Gavin, same bullshit every year…”  
“Alrighty, ‘greedy old fuck can't risk a ten’ it is.”  
Gavin went through every desk like this, and, when he finally fell into his own chair to look through the list, adding up mysterious probabilities he alone could understand, RK900, who was sitting in front of him, asked:  
“What is happening?”  
“What's it look like?” Gavin dodged with yet another question, keeping his eyes on the paper and chewing on the pencil's end in concentration. Tina yelled from her desk:  
“Reed! It's two minutes to nine, hurry up with the damn list!”  
“Yeah, yeah, just a sec!” Gavin's face displayed all the torture of tackling a tough dilemma. “Ah, fuck it. But nothing's gonna pop up before eleven, I'm fucking telling ya!”  
He scribbled the number in front of his name and pinned the list to the bulletin board. Once he got back, RK900 answered his previously posed question:  
“It looks like everyone in this precinct has gone insane.”  
“How insightful. If I've got my numbers right, I'll make three hundred bucks off this. Well,” Gavin looked at the clock, “bring it on!”

The clock struck nine, but, in spite of the detective’s enthusiasm, nothing “brought it on”. A very typical work day began, with its usual chatter and its routine check-ups in between actual calls. RK900 had nothing better to do than to yet again scan through Reed’s computer for irrelevant data in form of pictures and videos of beautiful women dressed in nothing but weird structures of leather straps that couldn’t hide a single detail of their spectacular physique. This time, no pictures were left. No videos either. Only case papers, criminal profiles, and inspection reports. Even the silly picture of a ginger cat sitting cozily under a tabletop lamp, that got wiped off too. Even though the cat was the one thing RK900 didn’t mind.

“Hey, Neo, not tired of digging around my stuff yet?” Gavin inquired, who, it seemed like, didn’t even need to be looking at RK900 to tell in some mysterious way that the android was back on his bullcrap.  
“Your talent truly amazes me, Detective. I’m only left to wonder why you still haven’t made Lieutenant with such a knack for reading body language.”  
“I haven’t ‘cause I’m not kissing Fowler’s ass,” Reed took a drink from his completely cooled-off cup of coffee and put it away with disgust, “Fucking sewage.”  
“You don’t have to kiss anything in order to pass the Sergeant exam,” RK900 persisted, making Gavin finally snap. He looked the android in the eyes nearly for the first time since morning and said:  
“You out of touch with reality or what? At what point did I ask for your opinion? You’re not my mother, understood? So would you kindly shove your priceless advice up your priceless-”

Suddenly, a call came in to RK900. He reported to the detective:  
“Apartment building on Chrysler drive, male, estimated 30 to 35 years old, threatening to jump-” Gavin glanced at the clock.  
“Fucking Nostradamus,” he grumbled. “He’s got a crystal ball shoved away somewhere under the desk, I bet my badge. Attention, Detroit loser department! It’s over!”  
Audible disappointment filled the air in the precinct. Fowler grinned widely and gestured from behind the glass, Money first!  
RK900 observed the ordeal carefully, even though he’d normally be shoving Reed out the door, an iron grip on his elbow to prevent any attempt of escape.  
But today was different. First of all, the nameless suicide victim presented little to no interest to the android; and second of all, he felt curious as to what kind of show was unraveling before his eyes. When Reed, followed by the sour gazes of his colleagues, handed a stack of crumpled tens to the Captain and was ready to head out, RK900 couldn’t help asking:  
“Why do you do all this?”  
“You’ll get it when you’re older, hon.” Gavin snatched his jacket off the chair and said to Richard offhandedly, “Move it, while our skydiver still hasn’t turned into some mesmerizing floor graffiti.”  
“Wouldn’t it be more helpful to send a qualified therapist instead?”  
“Good thinking, Tinman! Brilliant idea, never crossed our minds. It’s only just, you know, that therapists cost a little more than both my kidneys cut out and nicely ribboned. And an android therapist, that isn’t very uplifting to see when you’re about to throw yourself off a fucking building.”  
“Why, though? Android therapists are explicitly trained to handle situations of this kind.”  
“Oh, don’t you say? Have you any idea about Detroit’s main cause of suicide?” Richard nodded, so Gavin went on. “Alright. So, now, imagine a guy who’s about to jump off the tenth floor ‘cause they kicked him out of the job that he so adored. And then there’s an android in his very place. So there he is, standing on the rooftop, all ready to jump, with an android trying to ward him off because life is just so wonderful and worth living. A little stupid, don’t you think?”  
RK900 was listening intently, so Gavin went on again. “And then again, the fact that you, glorified toasters, are now rightful American citizens, equal to humans in every single way, doesn’t make many of us happy. You were pretty fucking annoying as it is, but now… Ugh, why am I telling you all this? If I were on that rooftop and saw your concerned pretty face down there, I’d jump just to piss you off.”  
“You’re underestimating my skill,” RK900 replied with utmost confidence.  
Right at that moment, a brilliant idea came to Gavin, who’d grown pretty fucking tired of the android’s overblown ego. Right away he decided to put the bright thought into action.

Gavin got up silently and headed for the parking lot with such an air that RK900 felt like he had no choice but to follow him. They set off to help Officer Miller, who was horrified by the perspective of requalifying into a field therapist.  
In front of the building, a gawking crowd had already gathered. Gavin launched into berating the patrolling officers, who, apparently, thought that closing off the area would’ve been too much of a bother.  
“The hell are you standing around for? Decoration? I don’t give a shit how you do it, but the yard must be as empty as your fucking heads in five minutes’ time. Go on, get to work!”  
He immediately presented a commendable example to his hapless colleagues by breaking into the crowd and making generous promises left and right that if the guy finally nosedives, every single one of them will get an exciting trip to the precinct as a potential witness.  
“And no one’s going to give you a chance to refuse!” he threatened, demanding full names and driver’s licenses for better measure. The comedian who’d yelled, “Do it already, you fuckhead!” got explained thoroughly that imbecile jokes are a sure-way ticket to not-so-distant lands full of fun adventure.  
“That’s criminal incitement! Encouragement of suicide, psychological pressure on an emotionally unstable individual! Lube it up, your cellmates will fucking love your sense of humour! I’ve got a shitton of witnesses here!” Gavin gestured at the crowd, now significantly dissipated. RK900, in turn, read out the respective Criminal Code article with a chillingly intimidating expression to solidify the effect. The poor comedian could barely escape. Soon the yard was empty, apart from patrol and the detective with his android.  
“And no civilian fuckface roaming around here from now on! No music, no funny footage, no news reporters, I need this place dead as a graveyard,” Gavin ordered to the lousy officers. With that out of the way, he turned to RK900:  
“Chris is out there right now. And you know what this means? This means that if we wait just a little more, the pavement will soon be soaking in guts and brain mass. I’ve no idea why the guy still hasn’t jumped, considering how Chris wouldn’t find the wit to sell a wagon of raw meat to the Donner party. Chris ain’t cut out for cases like these, you get me? Go on, take the lead. Flip on your empathy switch, modulate a caring tone and go save the bastard, since you’re so explicitly trained.”  
“And what about you?”  
“Yes, what about me? I’m afraid of heights, remember? Fell ass-first off a swing thi-i-is high as a kid, got emotional trauma for the rest of my life. So go and get this one yourself.”  
“You always smoke up on the roof,” RK900 remarked.  
“You ever seen me dancing around on the edge like the imbecile up there?”  
Catching a spark of suspicion in RK900’s gaze, Gavin decided to put everything he’d had up his sleeve on the table:  
“Let’s make a bet. If you convince the guy to get down without using air travel, I’ll give in. I’ll admit that you really do know what you’re doing. I’ll even apologize for calling you useless.”  
“Sounds tempting, I must admit. Will the apology be public?”  
“Hey, don’t push it! Private will do it for you.”  
“Deal.”  
RK900 turned around and started heading for the entrance, but Gavin remembered suddenly, just before it was too late:  
“Hey, asshat! How about what happens if I win? Want to discuss that?”  
“What would you like me to do?”  
“You’ll be making me coffee all week long. At my every request.”  
After a pause, RK900 replied, “Once a day. And only if you say ‘please’.”  
“Reasonable,” Gavin agreed, and the android walked in.

 

Five minutes later, Gavin saw Officer Miller exit the building. He was beyond happy to hand his responsibility over to the unexpected volunteer. Seeing Gavin, he said gratefully:  
“You’ve outright saved me! I couldn’t come up with a thing to say for the life of me… He even tried to scold me, like, they couldn’t even send someone qualified and all that.”  
“Don’t bother with all this gratitude just yet,” Gavin noted, throwing away a cigarette butt. “You owe me one. And you’re going to start repaying at this very moment. Come on, don’t look at me like that, it’s nothing fancy. I only need to get away for a while. Today, I’ll be riding around with you.”  
Chris shrugged his shoulders:  
“Whatever you will. And is he,” Chris glanced up, ”going to stay here all by himself?”  
“What makes you so worried for him? He’ll be done with the skydiver in a minute, then he’ll hop in the car and come back to the precinct. Won’t shed a tear, take my word for that. It’s all gonna be fine.”  
“Oh well, you know him better than I do,” Chris remarked philosophically. “Your partner, not mine, it’s not me who’s gonna have to deal with him after.”  
_Oh, I’ll deal with him, Chris. Sooner or later, I will,_ Gavin thought.

RK900 hadn’t even made it to the rooftop before Gavin and Chris were already on their way for an urgent call that came in from the other end of the city. Gavin knocked out his cellphone out of precaution and ordered Chris to keep his mouth shut tight about his newfound tag-along.  
“I’ll come in handy, Chris, don’t you worry. We’re gonna make the team to end all teams. I can become a personal therapist for every depressed flying squirrel of yours. All you have to do is keep quiet.”  
And Chris, of course, was happy to oblige — to him, the annual March fever was akin to descending barefoot straight into hell. To Reed, on the other hand, that same hell felt like his own cozy living room. Chris kept glancing at the detective, who hadn’t asked for his permission to smoke in the car and was now messing around with radio settings. This one won’t care a bit. Doesn’t give a fuck about any of these poor bastards. Won’t lose any sleep over them, unlike some people...

It was nearing noon when they arrived at the private Gross Lle bridge. They were swiftly explained the deal: young man, early twenties, climbed over the fenсing, been standing there for about twenty minutes. Refuses to talk to any of the officers.  
“We’ve got his identity,” one of the policemen looked at his tablet, “Ethan Russell, unmarried, tech student, no psychiatric record, doesn’t swim — if he goes down, he goes down for good. We contacted his father, can’t come since he lives in another…”  
“Yadda-yadda-yadda,” Gavin replied. “Priceless information, thanks a ton. I’m outta here.”  
“But... Detective, wouldn’t it be worth giving the therapist another try? We’ve failed several of them already.”  
“The android therapist, you mean?”  
“Yes, we have a social-”  
“Trust me,” Gavin cut him short, “the best therapist out there is occupied, and the second-best therapist out there is standing right in front of ya. Unclench, we’ve got this.”  
_Reed, you’re such a moron,_ Chris thought, all the while staying silent. He knew perfectly well that, compared to himself, Reed was indeed a top-notch negotiator.  
_And a heartless loudmouth,_ he added to himself.  
And then Gavin, the same Gavin who’d been swearing to have a horrible fear of heights fifteen minutes prior, got over the swaying in the wind, clattering fencing without a second thought, cursing the cold burning wire under his breath. Clinging onto the metal grid, he swiftly moved along the concrete rim, closer to the ill-fated Ethan Russell. The spot was completely exposed, so the felo-de-se, who’d spent almost half an hour hanging under the merciless gusts, was now huddled into the corner between the concrete bars, shaking insanely, his teeth rattling.  
Having got close enough to make himself heard but not enough to scare the dumbass into jumping, Gavin greeted:  
“Nice weather today, eh? Should’ve prolly brought you along some coffee.”  
No answer came. Thus, Gavin made himself comfortable against the concrete and pulled up his hood.  
“What is it, daddy can’t give a fuck about this little performance of yours?”  
Ethan, who, upon coming closer, turned out to be a tall, skinny ginger with a sheepish look on his face, stared in shock at his strange new company and, judging by the faint movement of his bloodless lips, asked for something.  
“Can’t hear a thing you’re saying, speak the fuck up!”  
“Who are you?” he asked again, now a little louder.  
“Santa himself. Don’t I look like it? Who do you think I am, for god’s sake?” Gavin lifted up the badge on his jacket. “Are you gonna talk? Or will I have to come up with a tear-jerking life story myself?”  
“Come up with a story?” the ginger yelled, for his normal speech got easily drowned in the howling wind and the rumble of nearby traffic. Unlike the loud and assertive voice of Gavin Reed.  
“Well, the report can’t be empty, can it? I gotta write why Ethan Russell, born on this day of that year, student of this and that university, jumped off the Gross Lle bridge on March first and got himself two lungfuls of refreshing spring-born water. They’re very clear on that, they’ll squeeze a report outta ya for every single one. And I’m not much of, you know,” Gavin drummed a finger against his forehead, “a storyteller. Repeat myself all the damn time.”  
“You shouldn’t be using the word ‘jump’”, Ethan retorted timidly, making Gavin think, _Yeah, sure, tell someone else all about what we should and shouldn’t do. If you wanna scold me, get in line._  
“Alright, I won’t. But it’s exactly what you came here for, isn’t it? Not to get some fresh air, that’s for sure. Oh, about that — I’ll have a smoke, if you don’t mind.”

And he lit his cigarette, shielding the light from the wind and turning away from Ethan. He leaned forward and looked over the edge. The water was shimmering with tiny curls of foam. Gavin spat:  
“‘Bout five on the Beaufort scale. A little short of a fucking tornado. Did you people really have to crawl out of your shells today, of all days? Aren’t you a tech student or something? Couldn’t come up with a more comfortable way to off yourself, genius?”  
“That’s none of your business! I’m not going to talk to you!” Ethan finally got a hold of himself. Gavin shrugged his shoulders indifferently, “As you wish.”  
“You’re supposed to be talking me out of it, not describing my death report! It’s people like you why I’m standing here! You’re just like my father, like the teachers, like everyone around me. Cold, selfish and heartless!”  
“Shut up for a second, Einstein.” Gavin threw the cigarette butt over the bridge, following it by a spit. “Daddy’s paying for college, I assume? The heartless teachers make you study ‘stead of sitting your butt flat? The girls never look at you and prefer someone with some fucking balls? The soulless cops don’t want to be wiping your face with a flowered handkerchief? What a tragic life indeed. And a unique one, at that. You want to prove how fucking exceptional you are by leaping off this bridge? Have you any idea how many of you psychos we’ve fished out this river already? How many are gonna be found all over the city and dumped into the morgues? I’ll give you the exact number - a _shit-ton_. A shit-ton of unique individuals who wanted to show off their temper. And if you think you are the one who’s going to stick with me, you’re very fucking wrong. Even your daddy can’t give a shit about you anymore, and you think that Gavin fucking Reed will be the one to remember your self-righteous deathbed whining? I’ve got this much on my mind as it is, such a shitpile no dredge could handle it. I can share if you’d like.”

Ethan didn’t answer. His whole body was trembling with cold. Textbook hypothermia was starting to show.  
“I can tell them to give you a blanket,” Gavin suddenly offered, and the guy nodded. Gavin called up Chris:  
“Listen, we need a blanket and a coffee thermos. I’m up to here with this place.”  
“Will do, Gavin,” the radio hissed in Officer Brown’s voice. “All okay up there?”  
“Well, I’m still alive, it’s okay as can be,” Gavin replied, and Chris went silent. The detective went on with the thought, now addressing the ginger:  
“You think suicide has never crossed my mind?”  
“I think it hasn’t,” Ethan answered quite impertinently, completely knocked out of his melancholic agenda and seriously exasperated by the detective’s rudeness. “People like you can’t have these kind of thoughts. Life’s all simple to you! You can’t doubt yourself, can’t feel ashamed, you’ve never known what these words even mean. You’ve never known what it means to feel hurt and misunderstood. You walk all over those who get in your way, you love to humiliate the people around you, to push all their weak spots. You hurt others without ever realising it. You’re the arrogant type who shouldn’t be allowed to work with people. You’re not even a person, you’re an animal.”  
“And why shouldn’t I be allowed to work with people?” Gavin asked in sincere amazement, ignoring the animalistic comparison.  
“Because you never want to look deeper. You let everyone know right away you don’t give a crap-”  
The radio awoke once again. “Attention, lowering,” it rasped. Gavin looked up at the swaying cable, with a thermos wrapped in a blanket tied to its end. He gripped the cocoon, unwrapped it and handed the blanket over to Ethan. While the guy was wrapping the thick, impenetrable, foily cloth around himself, Gavin decided to finally address the accusations:  
“Was it Disney cartoons where you got your impression of police work? If we were to connect deeply and spiritually with every single Joe McTragic we happen across, Detroit would burn down to ashes. While we’re having our nice chit-chat over here, someone out there is getting their throat slit, someone’s getting raped, robbed, beaten up, violated, pulled into a drug ring — a whole lot of exciting stuff is happening this very moment, trust me. All the while you’re standing here, complaining about my lack of manners. Oh well, Ethan, what an ungrateful asshat you are.”

Gavin poured himself some coffee. He remembered his partner, who had probably tackled his mission with the usual brilliance and was already waiting for Gavin’s heartfelt apology. Waiting to hear Gavin admit his superiority, obvious even when unspoken. The flawless RK900 and the horribly flawed detective, who’s getting his missteps rubbed in his face even by Ethan, that pathetic crybaby of a person.  
“Man, there hasn’t been a fucking day where I wouldn’t feel ashamed of myself,” Gavin suddenly confessed. “Not a fucking moment.”  
“Nah, you’re lying.” The kid grew more and more audacious. He looked at the steaming cup and remarked, “Could’ve at least offered me some.”  
“Shut it, you’ll live. And don’t lose the blanket, ‘s public property.”  
“I’m freezing cold, I need that coffee,” Ethan persisted.  
“Get over here, and I’ll pour you some,” Gavin offered shamelessly. He wasn’t expecting any response, but Ethan suddenly folded up the blanket, which had been waving off his shoulders like a silver cape, and made a step. His hands, frozen to the bone, clutched the concrete rim apprehensively. Gavin felt a pinch of concern: the kid could simply trip over and fall. He put the cup aside and yelled:  
“Hey, Spiderman, grip the hand.” Gavin clung on to the thin, lifeless arm and pulled the kid over to his side, precautiously pressing him up against the wall. “I’ve changed my mind. How ‘bout we have some coffee someplace where the wind’s not trying to blow the life out of you? You alright with that?”  
Ethan answered with a weak and flustered, “Okay…” His face went blooming red. He buried it in the shoulder of the detective, who was holding up the feeble, trembling creature and contemplating a secure way out. Gavin couldn’t risk asking any more questions before they both got to safety.  
So he leaned in and said quietly, “You go first, I’ll cover.” The kid complied, so Gavin could observe with great relief how he climbed slowly upwards, barely able to move his feet, clinging onto the iron ladder, and how the patrol finally helped him over the fencing to solid ground. Gavin sighed and followed.  
He couldn’t help enjoying the thought of stealing RK900’s thunder, even just for today. But then he remembered that, since he was working with Chris, each and every great feat of his would miss the record. Terrible shame. Meanwhile Ethan, still hanging around, wrapped in the same warm cloth, didn’t seem to get his eyes off Gavin, in spite of Miller’s best tries to get the kid’s attention. Reed caught the pitiful stare and asked:  
“So? Are we going or not?” He then turned to Christ, “Give us a ride, will ya? It’s lunchtime anyway, and I could eat a horse raw and unsalted at this point. The place will be as good as any for getting those statements of yours.”  
The three had their lunch together. As soon as they were done, Gavin went out for a smoke, naively assuming that his job was all done and Chris could deal with the formalities. Ethan ran out to meet him shortly after.  
“Detective Reed!”  
Gavin turned around to see the college kid, his face all red, probably from the steaming-hot food.  
“Yeah?”  
“I’ve been meaning to ask you… Is it true that you’re ashamed of yourself?”  
“True as anything.”  
“But… what for?”  
“You’re fucking kidding me! Think I haven’t got enough reasons?!” Gavin snapped. Though, he continued more calmly, “It’s just that… I have plenty of chance to compare myself. Which is a fucking bummer. Aren’t in my favor, those comparisons, you get me?”

Ethan shrugged, freezing, looked around, made sure that nobody was watching, and asked:  
“Can we meet again sometime?”  
Gavin anticipated the question and knew the was no way he should agree. Why babysit the ginger moron outside his work hours? He was going to turn him down with the foulest of expressions and hand him over to the psych ward, like he was supposed to. They only needed to keep him for a while and let him go as soon as the danger had passed. But instead, the detective answered:  
“If you can promise to go easy on the booze, then yeah, sure, why the fuck not. Just this once. But keep in mind, we’re not buddies now and never will be, okay?”  
“Of course!” Ethan agreed happily, making Gavin all the more concerned. They exchanged numbers, and Gavin made Ethan provide Chris with all the necessary information about the incident. When the report was over with and Ethan waved goodbye, Chris asked:  
“How the hell did you do that? He refused to talk, even with a psychologist. You’ve sure got a talent for this.”  
“This ain’t no talent, Chris. If he really wanted to die, he would’ve jumped without waiting for us to show up, trust me on that. If you want to kill yourself, nothing can stop you — with some effort, even a water cup’s enough to drown in, for what it’s worth. And as for that moron of ours, he just needed some attention. I still regret not leaving him to the doctors, they’d love to immerse him into their wonderful little world. Maybe he’d find himself some company there, who knows?”  
Chris left these words without comment — he believed it blasphemous to talk this way about those who are so deeply desperate. But he was grateful to Gavin nonetheless, for he took the burden upon himself and handled it perfectly.

About that time, the abandoned and unsuspecting RK900 made it to the roof and got to work. He was going to tackle it strictly, swiftly and effectively. His confidence was unshakeable. Upon seeing the android, the man on the roof cried out dramatically:  
“Don’t come any closer! I’ll jump, I fucking swear!”  
RK900 recognised such apprehension in his voice that he considered it safe to ignore him. The android walked to the edge of the roof, not even trying to console the skydiver, who turned out to be a plump man in a gray suit — terribly expensive, by the looks of it. He asked with visible annoyance:  
“Why didn’t they send a human?”  
“Officer Miller has just been here. You seemed quite dissatisfied with him,” RK900 reminded.  
“They should’ve sent another one then! Not an android!”  
RK900 looked at the picky victim with contempt. Not often did he have the luck to interact with humans of this type. It was usually Reed who took eager care of that — no self-absorbed asshole that took police officers for waiters would come away unharmed. So he replied, imitating the tone of his partner perfectly, enjoying it all the more:  
“We’re not running auditions here, you moron.”  
The man blinked, as if warding off a spirit. RK900 had already got his name, age, occupation, even taxation data, got every lawful bit of information one could possibly get on a common citizen. It was more than enough to figure him out, that pathetic attention-seeker who merely wasted the android’s time with his worthless hardships.  
“The divorce,” RK900 said. “You’re here to take revenge on your wife. How trite.” The android wasn’t asking, he was declaring. The man’s reaction confirmed it, so he continued, “Your psychotherapist has never prescribed you medication for clinical depression, nor for anxiety. You’re healthy, you’re mentally stable, and you’re trying to guilt-trip a woman who’s fallen out of love.”  
He came closer; the man’s grip on the enclosure hardened.  
“You’re wasting the valuable time of highly qualified specialists. During your spectacle, five cases of suicide have been registered. Mind you, none of the victims waited for a doctor of their taste. They simply died. And how about you? Are you ready to die? Perhaps, you’re just unsure of the right method?”  
RK900 estimated the quality of the suit’s fabric strong enough and gripped the man by the collar.  
“Let me conduct a proper show-and-tell, since I’m here after all.”  
“No!” the man jumped aside with lightning speed, felt the release from the android’s grip, turned around, grabbed the fencing and fell over clumsily onto the rooftop gravel. He crawled away from the edge.  
RK900 asked sympathetically, “Oh, so you’ve changed your mind? Hasn’t taken you very long… I would recommend seeing a psychiatrist about that.”  
“I don’t need any-”  
“I’m afraid isn’t up to you.”  
It was true: RK900 had already called up a psychiatric brigade. The man had a whole week of isolation and very interesting conversations ahead. It wasn’t necessary, not in his case, but RK900 strongly disliked false alarms. Lies in general, too. Only one human was allowed these kinds of backflips, and the android wasn’t planning on branching out his mercy. Besides, he had already been assured that pampering wasn’t going to get the partnership very far.

Instead of the promised apology, RK900 got the keys to their car and a laconic message:  
“Detective Reed wanted you to have these.”  
Where the detective was and with whom, that RK900 didn’t need to ask. He deduced it on the spot: Gavin ran off. Again. He sighed. So be it, Detective Reed, have your moment while it lasts. This evening will make you appreciate it.  
A new call came in, and RK900 set off to take it all by his lonesome.

Chris and Gavin closed off the shift, thanked each other for the help and parted their ways. Chris had got another chance to see Gavin as a rude insensitive prick, albeit with some oratory skill. And Gavin had got another chance to see Chris as the dullest damn guy in the precinct; besides, the youthful dad couldn’t shut up about the feats of his newborn, which alone made Gavin want to yawn his jaw out of position.  
He asked Chris to give him a lift to the bar where Ethan was supposed to be waiting. Quite a few texts from the guy already. Gavin hadn’t been to the place before.  
To say that Gavin was surprised by his location of choice would be a huge understatement. He’d expected something different from a techy college kid. A shithole in a backwater industrial district came as a great surprise. He hadn’t even got to have a proper look-around before Ethan spawned next to him, a little short of launching into a bear-hug.  
They took a table in the corner. The kid was more than tipsy already, which Gavin noticed with considerable disappointment.  
“Celebrating your second birthday, eh?” he asked.  
“Well, I… Not really. I’ve no idea what got into me this morning. Honestly, I haven’t even thought of it, not even once, and here I am…”  
Mass hysteria, that’s what got into you. They all jumped and you followed, good little sheep that you are.  
“Wanna join me?”  
“I don’t drink,” Gavin pressed through his teeth, not excited by the idea of getting shitfaced in the company of that dogface. As an answer, he met another pleading stare. Should’ve flipped him off right off the bat. Shouldn’t have given a shit and picked up the call in the first place. Shouldn’t have trodden into this godforsaken rathole of a bar with its shady audience. Gavin’s phone buzzed with an incoming call from Richard, who’d been silent all day, making Gavin suspicious and ever so slightly frightened, but was now dispatching call after call. As if he really thought that Gavin would voluntarily pick up to yet another one of his lectures.  
“Ah, fuck it. One glass, and we’re done.”  
It was one of the most hilarious delusions of Gavin’s — the belief in his ability to stop after one drink.  
The first glass had him feeling warm and friendly. The second had him listen quite patiently to Ethan’s chatter about his childhood, his father, his hobbies, like, kayaking or fishing or some shit, Gavin couldn’t really remember. The third one had Gavin believe that Ethan’s flow of consciousness wasn’t really that annoying. All he wanted was for the guy to take it all out, get rid of those dumb ideas of his and let Gavin leave the bar with a sense of fulfilled moral duty.  
“I’ll go have a smoke,” Gavin warned, but the clean Ethan, for some inexplicable reason, decided to keep him company.  
“Who do you compare yourself to, Detective?” he asked as soon as they got outside, with a blissful smile, as though he thought Gavin’s earlier mentions utterly hilarious.  
“Doesn’t matter, there’s a… eh… someone. Don’t wanna talk about ‘im.”  
The stupid smile remained. Come to think of it, Ethan had been walking around with a dumb grin this whole evening, which annoyed Gavin like hell. He decided he couldn’t take it anymore and asked upfront:  
“So, what did you get me here for? Just a drink? Or is there something else you’re not telling me?”  
Gavin was expecting another tear-jerker, but instead, Ethan lowered his eyes and said quietly, “I really like you... “ If Gavin were sober, he’d make an awful joke — which, thankfully, he was not. So no quick answer came to mind. Meanwhile, Ethan took the silence for something else, stepped up to the detective and went into a kiss.  
The kiss felt rushed and gross: his breath reeked of booze, his lips came across unpleasantly wet. Gavin didn’t throw an immediate punch for that kind of plot twist, even though he really wanted to.  
“Hey…” he held Ethan up at an arm’s length, for the guy was about to make a second move. “The hell are you doing, kid? I’m not about that business, do you copy?”  
“I’m sorry…” He suddenly sounded so quiet, so lost, that Gavin barely kept from swearing out loud. Last thing he needed was that drooling ram leaving the bar and going off to finish what he’d started. So he collected himself and said:  
“No, you did not. You’ve got the impression that I was the least bit interested in you, so you’re clinging onto me like you’re fucking drowning I’m the only log in sight. And what possible good am I? Need a big-ass log myself, if you know what I’m saying.”  
Ethan listened carefully until the end and said, avoiding Gavin’s eyes:  
“Who is it you’re always talking about? Who’s that person?”  
Gavin went red and hooked Ethan up by the collar, bringing the kid to the brink of choking with the madly tightening grip:  
“You don’t get it the nice way, do you? Be grateful that you didn’t ruin Miller’s record today. For that, I’m going to let you off with all your limbs intact. Now, you will get your shit together and get your sorry ass home. You’ll have some nice sleep, wake up the next day and go to class like a good boy. Understood?”  
Gavin felt Ethan’s touch on his hand, damp and cold, let go of him out of sheer disgust and went back into the bar.  
The kid didn’t follow him. Gavin could only guess what he was now up to: going home, or…  
An ache prodded his head. He went up to the counter, took a whole bottle of vodka and asked:  
“Is there anywhere quiet I can go?”  
The bartender gave him a skeptical look, but then responded:  
“Behind the bar, in the backyard.”

About twenty minutes had passed before a police car showed up near the bar. RK900 glanced at the glimmering, very to-the-point plate containing a “Bar” sign and a neon arrow.  
The place was roaring with music and drunken voices, which were either fighting or yelling some unintelligible chorus — very, very hard to hell. The dim lights caught out dirty, palm-smeared walls and old, stained, scratched table-tops. A sight more than pitiful. RK900 scanned through the area right after walking in, but Gavin Reed was nowhere to be found. Although, the CCTV footage did show him walking into this exact unsightly facility about an hour prior. The could’ve gone to the restroom, of course. But, in order to check the theory, RK900 would need to go past the bartender, whose gaze on the android was rather unfriendly. He walked up to the counter, leaned in enough to be heard in the terrible uproar, showed a hologram of Reed’s license photograph and asked:  
“Have you seen this man?”  
“And who are you to go around askin’ questions?”  
RK900 assessed his opponent: it was an ignorant xenophobe, ready to tear you apart for his orthodox values, your truest American in the lumberjack flannel. All in all, nothing deep or intriguing.  
“I am Detective Reed’s personal assistant. He called me in from your bar. I’m not one to poke my nose in the business of my superior. My only job is to obey.”  
“Is that so?” The bartender was visibly pleased with the humility of the android, who, in spite of his cocky white uniform and seeming arrogance, didn’t shove his brand new rights down the human’s throat. Though, the bartender was still going to put up a fight.  
“The guy didn’t seem like workin’ very hard to me…” he grumbled.  
RK900 shrugged his shoulders with the guiltiest, most pitiful look: don’t know nothing, just doing my job, he called, and here I am!  
The man nodded condescendingly and finally showed some mercy:  
“Go out the back door, to the waste-ground behind the bar. Your boss’s there, getting shitfaced and not even sharing.”  
_Shitfaced?_ The term caught RK900 a little off-guard.  
_Shitfaced…_ he repeated to himself. It’s been three whole months since they got partnered, and he had still never seen Gavin drunk. Not even tipsy. And it’s all considering the officers’ habit to gather up for some cold after-shift beer in the closest bar to the precinct.  
Although the faults of Detective Reed could well make up a medium novel, alcohol abuse wasn’t one of them. That RK900 knew for sure. Very curious. He thanked the bartender politely and followed the outlined route in search for Gavin Reed.

What the bartender had called the waste-ground turned out to be an abandoned basketball court behind the bar, dim in the light of a single crooked light. Puny trees worked their way through old concrete cracks; the only remaining basketball hoop, towering and lopsided, reminded of the times long gone to those still roaming the Earth.  
RK900 saw Gavin right away. The detective stood at a steep edge, right behind a hole in the disfigured lattice fencing. He was overlooking the city, it seemed, which was only a cluster of colourful lights and reflections in the dark waters of the river from that kind of distance. A violet glow hovered above the city, blending slowly into the clear starless sky. RK900’s footsteps drowned in the hum of the nearby traffic, so Gavin only noticed him when the android got up close and stopped right beside him.  
Gavin turned at the android, recognised him, said absolutely nothing and went back to contemplating the nighttime Detroit. RK900 followed his eyes and still couldn’t see what the detective was doing up there. He was expecting a caustic remark concerning the sudden arrival. It didn’t come. He noticed a vodka bottle in Gavin’s hand, already lacking a considerable amount of its contents.  
Gavin skipped the greetings:  
“Tough luck for Tina today. Saw a woman step out the window, a baby in her arms. Right in front of Chen… What an image to have on her mind.”  
RK900 didn’t answer, knowing quite well that the words didn’t call for his response.  
“And how ‘bout you? Done your deed?”  
“Yes, Gavin. I have.”  
“Of course you have… And that poor guy, the one you’ve dragged off the roof today — did he tell you why he’s decided to jump all of a sudden, into this… the void, or whatever the hell they call it?”  
RK900 noticed once again that Gavin hadn’t expelled a single profanity during their talk. And what was the whole “poor guy” about?  
“No, he didn’t tell me anything.”  
“Weird. And how did you pull him out, then? How did you manage to convince him?”  
“I didn’t. I dragged him off, as you say. Simply didn’t let him jump.”  
Gavin looked at RK900 with interest and suddenly laughed. He repeated:  
“Dragged him off…” He took a drink from the bottle and added, laughter still fluttering in his breath, “You’re amazing, Rick. Unparalleled.”

Whatever was happening, it was the weirdest milestone in their relationship so far. The detective had never called the android by his name. Despite knowing it perfectly well, he kept going off impersonal titles or never-ending nicknames, insulting more often than not. It had never really got to RK900. But that moment, it did. It did get to him how easily Gavin Reed, boiling with so much hatred for the android, threw the short name out there, like there was nothing to it. Rick. Not “hey, you”, not “fuckface”, not any other curse that a sober Gavin would prefer. There was something genuine in him after all. There was, and now, it was showing, so easily and so naturally. It was his stubbornness alone that prevented the name from slipping out at any other time in their three-month partnership.  
RK900 felt something that strongly resembled vexation — perhaps, for the first time in his life.  
He peered into his partner’s face, closer than before. The man he saw couldn't be farther from the man he knew. No constant crease between the lines of his eyebrows, calm, smiling absent-mindedly, not at Richard, but at something wholly internal. Suddenly, Richard voiced an assumption:  
“Is this why you don’t drink among others?”  
Reed hung his head and rubbed his forehead, as though befallen by a migraine. When he looked up, Richard saw that no trace of the smile was left.  
“Did I say something wrong?”  
“No, you were right,” Gavin responded. “But could you sometimes stop being… such an entitled prick? Just for once? Pretty please?”  
Richard had no idea what Reed was talking about, but, seeing his mouth yet again meet the bottle, the android grabbed his wrist without hesitation, yanked out the alcohol and poured out whatever had remained.  
“That’s enough.”  
“Did you come all the way here just to take away my bottle? Why are you following me around, anyway? Shift’s over.”  
“I only wanted to see if you were okay. I don’t like you disappearing like this.”  
“And how’s that workin’ out? Am I okay?”  
“Can’t tell,” the android answered honestly.  
“Ah, to hell with you,” Gavin sighed. “You’re not gonna let me have another drink, from the looks of it.”  
“You assume right.”  
“More power to you.” Gavin took a couple of steps forward and looked over the edge cautiously. “Is this place high enough, whatcha think?”  
“High enough for what?”  
“For running up and leaping, duh. Right into the void.”  
Gavin laughed again. The android’s serious response, “I’m going to do my best to make sure that tonight you only leap into bed. You’re drunk, Gavin,” caused another bout of laughter. Richard assumed fairly that he couldn’t expect much clear judgment from his partner, so he said flatly:  
“It’s time, let’s go!”  
“Aye aye, Sir! Let’s go.” And Gavin started making his way towards the bar. They walked out onto the cracked concrete of the court, found themselves in the yellow cone of electrical light, and Gavin, who was falling a little behind, suddenly blurted out:  
“Y’know what, I need to make sure.”  
There was a crack of gravel under his feet as he turned around abruptly and ran lightning-fast towards the steep. RK900’s reaction was quick, but Gavin had a head start and, on top of it, put all he had into the jolt towards the edge. RK900 could only catch him when he’d already sprung onto the grassy hill. The android’s fingers bit into the hood of Reed’s jacket; he jerked him back, hooked the free hand around his torso and cut him down. They fell into the dusty, prickly grass, Gavin trying to push the android away, to get on top, they rolled on the ground like a pair of rabid strays. Eventually, RK900 managed to pin him down by the wrists and render him relatively motionless.  
Gavin breathed heavily, still trying to get the android off himself. RK900 felt the alcohol in his warm humid breath, he couldn’t tell when the drinking had started — with that bottle in his hand, or way, way before that.  
“You’re drunk, Gavin,” he repeated.  
“Yeah, duh,” Gavin answered, “The hell I am. And you’re my guardian angel for today, eh? How many of us saved already? Do you keep count at all? Tiny notches, gold star stickers? Or is it a diary? Dear diary, today I’ve dragged another shitsack out the cold merciless oblivion. How does it feel, being so fucking flawless?”  
“I don’t understand. You’re saying drunken gibberish.”  
“Let go of the hands, ‘t hurts…”  
Richard let go. Right away Gavin’s hand flew up and touched his temple. A finger traced the smooth glowing circle, slightly brushing against the surrounding skin. Reed’s hands felt hot.  
“What’s it with texting your motherland Cyberlife this late?” Data exchange was not the reason why the light shone yellow, but Richard preferred not to correct him. He remained still, even though the whole thing looked odd, at the very least.  
_What is he trying to do?_ RK900 thought, who’d never seen Reed’s behavior take such a turn. It was all alcohol talking, for sure. But even with that in mind, the alcohol was talking utter nonsense. Reed had never voluntarily touched the android, not since the uneven fight back when they first met. Never since.  
“Funny shit,” Gavin said, still caressing the light, yellow as the warm lick of a candle, so far from its usual cold, distant, sky-like blue. The surface of the LED was smooth and soothing to the touch; so was Richard’s skin.  
Tomorrow he’ll be angry with me for not stopping him. RK900 knew it for sure, but still didn’t move, only answered:  
“Very funny, Detective. Come on, get up, I’ll help you.”  
They got up and patted the dust off their clothes, along with a few clingy grass blades. Gavin set off for the bar, but this time, RK900 decided to be the one behind, as if safeguarding the unpredictable detective. Reed turned to him a couple of times with a chuckle, and, as soon as they got to the parking lot, he asked:  
“Are you sure you’re taking me home and not to some shithole with a body fresh and waiting? Swear that you’re not. I won’t get in the car if you don’t swear! I’ve had enough to look at today already.”  
“I’m absolutely positive,” Richard assured, and Gavin made himself comfortable in the passenger’s seat, folding back the backrest. “Don’t fall asleep just yet, we’ll be there soon.”

And still, Gavin somehow found the time to do just that. The android should’ve woken him up. But he hesitated. The alley was empty apart from a few passers-by here and there; the neon of the nearby mall lit up the otherwise peaceful sky above the living district. RK900 was pondering tensely over everything that had happened that day. That first day of March. He tried to see a connection between Gavin’s strange act and the day’s events, for he knew it was there, he could feel it. But a memory distracted him.  
“Funny shit,” he whispered to himself, touching his temple. The android looked at his partner’s sleepy profile, outlined by an orange street light. His eyes wandered the familiar face, which was always such a delight to peer into, to search for traces of any possible emotion, obvious or hidden. RK900 never touched Detective Reed, never, apart from the times when he’d want to assure obedience. A painful grip here, an insistent back nudge there, a full-on demonstration of his capability on the very first day of their partnership that convinced Gavin to stop picking fights, leave the trenches and settle for a cold war for good.  
But now, now he wanted touch. Reed was asleep, he should absolutely wake him up. Perfect opportunity. RK900 stretched out his arm and traced a finger along the old, whitened scar across the bridge of Reed’s nose. His hand was instantly met with a slap:  
“Is it seven already?” Reed grumbled sleepily, not bothering to open his eyes.  
“No, only half past one.”  
“Well, bugger off then.”  
The regulator gave out a creak as Reed threw back in his seat and turned away from the android. He was almost immediately out. No more wake-up attempts followed, and, when Reed opened his eyes at ten minutes to seven in the morning, he asked:  
“What the hell?”  
“You’ve got approximately an hour, Detective Reed,” RK900 replied. “You can shower, have breakfast and change. I’ll be waiting in the car.”  
“No, I’m asking you, what the actual hell got into you that you didn’t wake me the fuck up as soon as we arrived?”  
“I did, in fact.”  
“Save this for someone with less brain cells. I know you could wake my dead granny out of her coffin if you really wanted to.”  
“I’m giving you an hour, Detective,” his partner answered indifferently.

Gavin saw from his tone of voice that the android couldn’t care less about the accusations, got out of the car and trudged home. The precinct met him mad as a hornet, his head boiling up with a hangover. He squinted at RK900 and remembered something:  
“Wanna get me some coffee?”  
“And would you like to bring me your heartfelt apology?” RK900 asked in return.  
“Why the hell would I?” Gavin wondered. “It’s you who fucked this up.”  
“Fucked this up? The man is alive and well, and he’s in very capable hands. I won.”  
But suddenly Gavin, in spite of the horrible ache in his temples, curled his mouth into a joyous grin.  
“So, that’s what you think ‘convincing’ is like? All that bullshit you did yesterday? And don’t stare at me like that. I asked around and heard exactly how you ‘dragged’ that fuckface off the roof. Convincing and bullying ain’t the same, you genius. All you did to your client was scare him shitless, which, honestly, isn’t even surprising, but what you were supposed to do was convince him that there was just the teeniest fucking inkling of meaning in his pathetic-ass life. Do you really take humans for brainless shitsacks that can’t do anything without a crowbar to the head?” And, noticing that RK900 was listening very carefully, he continued:  
“Not humans are like the one in front of you. They’re much more complicated than you think.”  
“I’ve never said that I think of you as primitive,” RK900 retorted. But Gavin could only snort:  
“Sure, and you still show off every damn minute how fucking amazing you are compared to me. You’re the Darwin, I’m the orangutan, all that shit. How about bringing me my coffee, you evolutionary miracle?”  
RK900 got up from his chair, but he asked before leaving:  
“And how about my magic word?”  
“ _Please_ bring me my fucking coffee before this headache finds whatever better’s left in me and fucking takes it.”

RK900, who took his defeat surprisingly well, exited the precinct and headed for the coffee shop, where he didn’t order double americano, Reed’s usual coffee of choice, and got a caramel macchiato instead. When he was back, he saw an excited Chris talking at a very unexcited Gavin Reed. He went up to Reed’s desk and placed the coffee right in front of him. And Chris, who’d never said much to the android, couldn’t contain himself and asked:  
“And what about you, Richard? Do you know Connor? The android, the one who worked with Anderson. He’s back to the precinct tomorrow.”  
“No, I don’t”, Richard replied laconically, not quite getting why the news should be exciting. He was generally disinterested in other androids. Chris realised that these two weren’t ones to enjoy some workplace gossip, so he left them alone.  
“The hell’s this shit you brought me?” Gavin asked. “Couldn’t have gotten some actual coffee?”  
“Just try the drink, you’ll like it.”  
“Fuck me if you don’t always say that. It’s just that, you know, I’m still waiting for the moment I actually start liking what you do.”  
“The moment will come as soon as you let go of this stubbornness, Gavin.” RK900 nodded in Chris’ general direction and asked, “Why did Miller think that I’d find that Connor interesting?”  
Gavin looked away and said nothing. The fabricated indifference, one that Gavin put up any time he was trying to hide something, did not appeal to RK900 in the slightest. He had to pretend that he’d lost interest in the topic and get back to work.


End file.
